


oh the things we left behind

by furiosophie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Luke but it's not his fault he's trying very hard to fight it, Din does not want to be Mand'alor but the universe is trying very hard to make him, Din is confused about his feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Luke doesn't need protection tho, Luke has ptsd, Luke needs a hug, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02, Protective Din Djarin, Slow Burn, Sparring, but they're getting there, cool Jedi shit, like the slowest of burns, so much pining, the darksaber is somewhat sentient, the working title for this was 60k of angst but make it a fun road trip, there was only one bed uhm I mean ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29004585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiosophie/pseuds/furiosophie
Summary: After he commits every single weapon in the hold to memory, Din finds himself cataloging more and more things about Skywalker instead, small observations that carve out a space in his mind unbidden.---As much as Din likes to tell himself that he’s just been taking a well-deserved break, the truth is that for the six months following their daring rescue he’s been nothing but truly and utterly lost. That is until Luke Skywalker gives him a ship and hires him to help figure out what the hell the Empire needed the Child’s blood for.As they drift through the empty void of hyperspace, they slowly find unexpected companions in each other and realize their respective paths might not be as set as they once thought.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 217
Kudos: 664





	1. The Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve spent many hours researching timelines, distances between planets, and hyperspace speed, and I’ve come to the conclusion, that much like actual star wars canon, I don’t care about accuracy.
> 
> English is not my native language so I’d like to express my eternal gratitude to [capdjarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capdjarin/pseuds/capdjarin) for beta reading this!

"You know who that was, right?” 

Cara throws the question at him much later, long after the Jedi has left. 

Long after Din put his helmet firmly back on his head again. 

Two more of Bo-Katan’s men have joined them on the bridge to safely pilot the ship and Boba Fett leans against the wall beside the dented blast doors, basking in the dirty looks the Mandalorians throw his way. 

Din hovers somewhere in between, aching body tilted against the middle console. The darksaber rests heavy against his hip and he’s acutely aware that some of the dirty looks are aimed just as much at him as they are at Fett.

Cara seems beautifully oblivious to the tension. She stands over an unconscious Gideon like a successful hunter over her kill and looks up at him with a grin.

Din realizes that her question was rhetorical and he holds back a sigh. He’s about to disappoint her. Instead of saying as much, he tilts his head at her in silence, immediately regretting it as his strained neck makes an audible cracking sound.

"You can't be serious," she barks out a laugh. Her honest disbelief stings against the sweat and blood on his face. "Not a clue? Nothing?" 

He grunts in affirmation and she laughs again. 

"Unbelievable!" 

"So?" Din says and it comes out harsher than intended. The ache in his chest is joined by a sudden unease at the thought of just what kind of man the Jedi might be. He straightens up and tries again, this time gentler.

"Who is he then?" 

"Luke Skywalker," Bo-Katan answers him when Cara can't stop laughing quite fast enough. When Din doesn’t show a visible reaction she sighs from her command post at the head of the bridge. "He’s the one who destroyed the Death Star." 

Din thinks he hears something akin to respect in her words and it makes his skin crawl.

"Both of them," Cara corrects out of breath. He wonders if her laughter might be a direct reaction to the near-death experience they've just gone through. Or she’s just messing with him. He doesn't care for it either way. Not when his eyes are burning behind the flicker of his visor. 

"Isn't that all just propaganda?" Koska says with a huff, "They say he defeated both Darth Vader and the Emperor, that's just ridiculous." 

"He killed me once," Boba throws into the room, with much the same respect he heard in Bo-Katan’s voice, and Din is lost for words.

* * *

Din thinks of the Jedi often. 

More specifically, he thinks of Grogu.

He thinks of Grogu and his new home, thinks of what they could be up to, if he’s eaten, if he's safe. But the Jedi's face is always there, always present, in every thought he spares of his son. 

Bo-Katan had told him about the Jedi Order, in her attempt to sway him to their cause. She spoke like someone who had made up her mind a long time ago, her willingness to wield her knowledge as a weapon ever-present in her words. He had clenched his jaw against the bitterness in her voice as she made it clear to him that he would never see the kid again.

As much as he had learned to err on the side of caution with her tales, Din’s memory of Ahsoka Tano made him inclined to believe her. 

He asked Fett about the truth of the statement, just before he dropped Din and Cara off on Nevarro. “What does it matter,” Fett had shrugged as he punched in his next coordinates. “They are all dead anyway.”

It had done nothing to reassure him.

So now, at night, when he’s half asleep, he thinks of what it would feel like to see them again, Grogu and the Jedi.

After months he has a very clear picture - of rolling hills, a lush forest, a place of peace and tranquility. When he stretches out under the blanket he can practically feel the meadow under his boots. The smell of fresh rain creeps under the edge of his helmet and small green hands reach up with it.

But like most things in his life, none of it happens the way he imagines it. 

* * *

As much as Din likes to tell himself that he’s just been taking a well-deserved break, the truth is that for the six months following their daring rescue he’s been nothing but truly and utterly lost. 

In the beginning, when his neck is still stiff and his muscles sore, he thinks about looking for the remainder of his covert. But every time he imagines stepping in front of the Armorer, the weight of his helmet makes him feel like he can’t breathe and he is left gasping for air until he can find Cara and buy her a drink. 

So instead he hunts and he sleeps and repeats, hunt, sleep, repeat, _hunt sleep repeat huntsleeprep_ \--

There are days he wishes Bo-Katan would finally come and take the darksaber off him, days when he can’t help but wonder if he might feel lighter without the weight of it at his hip. 

But she never comes and with no child, no ship, and no covert to return to, he spends his days aimless, tethered only by the bounties and favors that Greef and Cara dutifully keep sending his way.

* * *

It happens on a job, one planet over.

It’s a favor for Cara this time, a small-time imperial technical officer that holds one too many secrets. It’s not a necessarily difficult job, but his target has managed to evade him for weeks and he can’t decide if he is annoyed with it, or grateful for the distraction. All he can think of is the fact that he has to be done here before the pilot he hitched a ride with loses his patience and leaves him stranded. 

He finally tracks the man down to an old imperial base, the eerie beeping of the tracking fob bouncing off its duracreet walls as Din makes his way through dark corridors.

It’s quiet, too quiet even for a decommissioned base. If the officer managed to evade him this long there had to be someone protecting him. Din considered the fact that he might not be the only one after this bounty, but the complete lack of bodies in his path speaks against anyone arriving before him. He’s just about to ponder if he got the wrong location once again when the smell of charred metal hits his nose. 

He rounds the corner to the central command room, to find a hole cut right through the middle of the blast doors, edges charred and glowing red like embers.

He hears the hum of the lightsaber before he sees him.

The Jedi stands in the middle of the room, the green glow of the blade casting an unnatural light over the dead bodies at his feet. 

Din realizes with cold clarity why he didn’t encounter anyone on his way. They were all hauled up here, dragging out the minutes until their inevitable demise.

He is sure the Jedi senses him, yet he stays stock still for a few agonizing seconds. When he finally turns his head there is something dark in his gaze, unfiltered, betraying his power. Dins hand tightens around his blaster involuntarily. 

There are a million thoughts rushing through his head, of how he made a mistake, how this man is dangerous and shouldn't be around Grogu. How Grogu is not here with him now. 

But then the lightsaber retracts and the Jedis expression shifts, a soft smile on his lips as he turns around to face Din. He hooks his saber to his belt before folding back the hood of his cloak.

If he's surprised to see him, it doesn't show on his face.

"Where is Grogu?" Din says instead of a greeting, words dragged out of him by the chill he still feels running down his spine. Somewhere at the back of his mind he is aware that he’s being rude, but Grogu is the only thing he can think of. 

The Jedi doesn't seem to mind. 

"He is safe,” he informs Din, calm and even. “I left him with my most trusted companions."

There is a tense few seconds following his words where Din is both incredibly relieved to hear Grogu is safe and filled with a sudden, immense dread as he remembers that the man in front of him has seen him without his helmet. 

His blaster is still pointing straight at the Jedi's heart, but the Jedi just waits patiently, hands folded in front of him - one gloved, one bare. There is a stillness to him that Din wishes would freak him out more than it does. 

Instead, all he is left with, despite everything else, is an inexplicable feeling of trust, the same calm he felt during their first meeting all these months ago. He holsters his blaster.

"Aren't you supposed to train him?" 

Din blurts the words out, cursing himself for his bluntness and impolite assumptions, but unable to stop himself. He feels out of his depth. 

"I am,” the Jedi says and for a second his expression shifts into something Din can’t read. “I have. He's making remarkable progress." There is a pause where he follows the Jedi’s gaze down to the bodies at his feet. "But there's something else that demands my attention." 

"My bounty?" Din asks, recognizing the face of his bounty puck amongst the bodies. The Jedi, _Skywalker_ , Din finally reminds himself, smiles. 

"Not quite. I'm not here to collect the fee if that's what you're asking. I'm after information." Skywalker steps over a Stormtrooper and makes his way to one of the terminals. "Grogu has told me some things that were... troubling."

"The experiments." 

The Jedi seems surprised for a moment then he nods again, smile back on his lips. "Of course you know," he says like it's a private joke. 

Din watches as Skywalker produces a data stick from his belt, inserts it into the terminal and taps a sequence of buttons. The terminal beeps at him angrily. He turns around, brows furrowed slightly as he scans the room, before he gestures at Din’s bounty. “Pass me the code cylinder, would you?”

Din steps forward and bends down to retrieve it. His gloved fingers linger on the burnt remains of the officer’s uniform, the black hole of a deflected blaster bolt blooming in the middle of his chest. When he hands the code cylinder to Skywalker, he accepts it with a smile. The Jedi tries again, and the terminal hums in dutiful approval. 

"Would you like to help me find what I'm looking for?" 

The question takes Din by surprise and for a split second, he thinks he can see that same sentiment mirrored on the Jedi's face. As if he didn’t expect himself to ask that. The expression is gone too fast for Din to fully grasp and Skywalker straightens up, pocketing the data stick.

"I'd like to hire you,” he doubles down, sure and steady.

"I'm not cheap," is all Din can think to say and Skywalker laughs. 

"Money shall be the least of our problems." 

"Why do you need me?" 

The memory of the Death Troopers is still fresh in his mind, how a single one made his neck hurt and bones ache and how the Jedi just cut through them like butter. He can't help glancing at the dead bodies behind them through the safety of his visor. 

A look of honest confusion crosses Skywalker’s face, as if his need for Din’s help should be obvious, then he huffs out something like a laugh. 

"You're an expert tracker. And you hold previous information about my mission that I'm not privy to,” he explains, “But most importantly you have a lot more contacts in the Outer Rim than I do." 

Din considers his words. The thought of the Jedi needing his help still doesn’t sit right with him. Bo-Katan’s warning springs into his mind unbidden and he can feel her bitterness reflected in his own uncertainty. But then he thinks of Ahsoka Tano telling him how there are not many Jedi left, how Boba said they were all dead. 

He thinks about returning to Nevarro, about collecting his next bounty puck, and about buying Cara a drink on the days his helmet just doesn’t sit right. He thinks about how that used to be all he ever wanted out of life. 

"Do you have a ship?" he asks finally and Skywalker nods, pleased.

"Yes."

“The X-Wing?" 

Skywalker nods again, then immediately raises his eyebrows as he catches the meaning of Din’s question. An X-Wing in the Outer Rim, in the criminal underworld, would not open them any doors. 

"Your ship then?"

"My ship blew up," Din does his best not to wince at the memory. 

"Ah," Skywalker says, considering this information for a moment, "Let’s find you a new one then.”

His smile turns mischievous and Din can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

“I know a guy." 

* * *

After agreeing on the details of the job, Skywalker requests three days to procure an adequate ship. Din watches the X-Wing accelerate into the atmosphere, and for a moment he’s unsure if the Jedi will be good on his word. The dead body of his bounty dangles awkwardly over his shoulder as he listens to his hired pilot complain about the delay.

Exactly 70 hours after he arrives back on Navarro Cara calls him into Greefs office to tell him that a Corellian light freighter is requesting to enter the atmosphere. There is a gleam in her eyes when she informs him it’s the Millenium Falcon. His absolute indifference at the name earns him a punch against his shoulder. It stings even through the beskar.

Din’s sparse belongings have never really been unpacked and he slings them over his shoulders as he steps out into Nevarros’s makeshift shipyard. He’s seen the scratches and nicks on Skywalker’s X-Wing, and he can’t claim that the Razor Crest had been in great shape, but he’s somehow still surprised the Jedi would travel in such a piece of junk. Everything becomes a bit more clear when he sees the man who's disembarking with him.

The “guy", as it turns out, is Han Solo, one of the highest bounties Din had ever seen in his life. Solo seems to at least have the decency to remember that fact because he looks genuinely terrified when he spots Din walking towards them. 

It seems to delight Skywalker to no end. 

"A bounty hunter?" Solo snaps at the Jedi as they walk down the ramp of the Millennium Falcon. 

"A Mandalorian," Skywalker corrects, barely holding back a laugh. He hides his grin behind his gloved hand and Din finds it oddly endearing. He pushes the thought aside.

“I’d like to remind you that I still can’t feel some of my toes,” Solo hisses, and Skywalker's smile falters just a little.

“Problem?” 

Din asks as he steps up to them and if he makes his voice a bit more threatening than necessary no one has to know. Skywalker has to look away, grin breaking through the cover of his hand again. It’s strange seeing him like this.

Solo throws his hands out in mock surrender, “Not if you don’t have one, _Mr_. _Mandalorian_.”

Din’s hand twitches towards his blaster just to see Solo squirm, just as they are interrupted by a second ship arriving. His budding amusement turns into a sudden mix of dread and anger. 

The ship is Mandalorian.

“What is that,” he bites out as the ship goes through its landing sequence.

“That my friend is a Comrik-class fighter, slash transport ship,” Solo claps his hands once as if he’s congratulating himself on a job well done, “Hyperdrive, four laser cannons, and some very nifty custom storage additions, if you catch my drift.” 

“ _Kom'rk_ ,” Din corrects Solos butchered Mando’a through clenched teeth, “It won’t do, it will attract too much attention.” 

Not just that, but the simple implication of him piloting a ship like this, a relic from days before the purge, is just ridiculous. It’s like an extension to his armor greater than any breastplate or jet pack. An extension he hasn’t earned in the slightest. 

Skywalker has the decency to throw Solo a look that says something along the lines of ‘ _I told you so_ ’, but Solo just gives him a long look up and down. “More attention than your shiny armor?” he asks, seemingly unable to stop himself.

Din feels an unexpected urge to reach for the darksaber but Solo raises his hands in defense before he gets anywhere near it.

“Look buddy, I was told pre-Empire and this is as pre-Empire as they come, these things basically don’t exist anymore” Solo shrugs unimpressed and then bumps his shoulder into Skywalker with a wink, “And it’s _definitely_ not on the New Republic’s radar, if you know what I mean.”

“Most importantly,” Skywalker steps in, with a warning smile aimed at Solo, before he turns to Din, “It’s yours.”

That stops him in his tracks for a second. “You’re just… giving me a ship?” 

“As down payment for your services,” Skywalker elaborates, needlessly.

Din looks at the ship for a long time. It feels wrong the same way it felt wrong to hear Mayfield say ‘ _I’ve never seen your face_ ’. But the longer he looks at it, the more his thoughts wander past what it once stood for, and focus on what it means for him now. Freedom. A fresh start. The ability to get the fuck away. 

One last chance to protect his clan of two.

He sighs, long and heavy.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Skywalker excuses himself to gather his things from the Millenium Falcon, which Din suspects to be a thinly veiled attempt at giving him some time to get more comfortable with the idea of the ship. He appreciates it.

As much as he’s reluctant to get acclimated with the ship, one thing that he can’t deny is that it’s beautiful. Even with the obvious dents and scratches the sleek lines of the wings cast an imposing figure against the horizon. He wonders if she has served in any of their wars. 

The paint is chipped in places, revealing some of the different colors the ship must have worn over the years until its last owner settled on black, gold, and blue. Justice, vengeance, and reliability - although he doubts the last pilot knew the Mandalorian meaning of those colors. 

As he walks around to the back of the ship he is met by a Wookie coming his way down the rear ramp. The second the Wookie spots him he lets out a high-pitched roar and even with his limited knowledge of Shyriiwook Din can tell whatever the Wookie just said is not a warm welcome. He reaches for the controls of his jet pack when Solo gives a loud whistle behind him.

“He’s Luke's _friend_ ,” he shouts from below the Falcon, “You’re not allowed to twist his arm out!”

Din is not sure he likes the way Solo says ‘ _friend_ ’. It sounds like an insult.

The Wookie gives another roar, then pushes past him, knocking his shoulder against Din’s with considerable force as he passes. He can’t tell why, but somehow he gets the strange feeling he deserves it. 

Once he hears Solo and the Wookie argue behind him, he continues walking up the ship's ramp. The cargo hold is blessedly silent and he lets out a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding. 

There is a ramp to the upper deck to his left, while the right-hand wall is made up of a simple long bench, no doubt for soldiers patiently awaiting their drop. He walks through a hallway to a second cargo hold in the front, passing both crew quarters and a small engine room. 

The front cargo hold is quite a bit bigger and based on the discoloration of the floorboards he wonders if it might have once functioned as additional crew quarters or a recreational area. Now it was stripped bare, safe for a couple of cabinets and crates lining the walls. 

He lingers for only a second before he makes his way up to the bridge. He walks into what appears to be a living space, worn but comfortable benches to one side, a rudimentary kitchen on the other. There is a sturdy looking table in the middle that seems to be missing some chairs. He wonders what it might be like to eat his rations anywhere other than the cockpit.

The control room is next, directly adjacent to the cockpit. There is a round command table in the middle, humming idly, ready to help them chart their next journey. Communication arrays line the walls on either side, but it looks like they haven’t been used in a long time. At a closer look he realizes one has been completely replaced by a workbench instead. 

The cockpit itself seats four, two in the front, two at the back, with just enough space for additional crewmates to linger. He steps up to the control panel, and after a second of hesitation lets himself sink into the pilots’ seat. The buttons and flight stick are familiar, but there is something daunting about the long narrow expanse of the windshield that engulfs the cockpit around him. 

The ship is big, much bigger than the Razor Crest. Still compact enough for him to fly on his own, but big enough to notice it’s not meant to be steered by just one man. 

He is not sure if he dreads flying it alone more than he dreads flying it with company.

With another sigh, he pushes himself up from the pilot's seat and makes his way back through the command room to the kitchen. He left the captain's quarters for last. They are to the left beside the benches and while they are certainly bigger than the crew quarters, he’s relieved to find that they are in no way lavish. A simple double bed against the back wall, a desk tucked into the corner to his left, storage crates stacked to his right. There is a small door leading to a compact refresher. 

He sets his bundle of things down on the bed and takes a deep breath.

He can make this work. 

The bed that looks too soft, the windshield that’s unnervingly wide, and the sturdy table that’s oddly reassuring. Sooner or later he will learn to see them as what they really are - a means to an end.

He will adjust. 

* * *

Din steps back down the cargo bay just as Skywalker carries a crate into the crew quarters. 

After a second of hesitation, he follows him. The crew quarters are even more sparse than the room upstairs - there are two bunk beds pushed against the walls in an L-formation and similar to the captain’s quarters a small door leads towards an equally small refresher.

If the Jedi is displeased with the sparse comforts surrounding him, it does not show on his face. Din watches as he places his crate beside one of the bunk beds and gets ready to get out of the way so Skywalker can move in the rest of his stuff. But the Jedi just bends down and starts unpacking his belongings, and Din realizes with some surprise that Skywalker seems to travel just as light as him.

“How are you finding the ship?” Skywalker asks as he unpacks a tattered looking book from his crate. His tone is too gentle for how casual of a question it is and Din wonders if he can sense his unease.

“It will do.”

Skywalker hums in approval and without anything else to say Din decides to busy himself with checking the crates in the front cargo haul while the Jedi finishes unpacking. He somewhat expected them to be empty, just unused storage, but he is surprised to find them filled with rations, spare parts, and weapons. A lot of weapons.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Skywalker says behind him, “After you said your old ship blew up I took the liberty of stocking us up on supplies.”

“This is ...” Din searches for the correct words to express that he doesn’t really know what to do with all of this, but all he can settle on is, “... a lot.”

“I was told you are not cheap.”

Skywalker uses his own words against him with a grin and Din suddenly feels strangely off-kilter. He can still hear Solo’s agitated voice carry through the walls of the ship, can still feel Nevarro’s gravel under his boots and the dusty breeze dragging through the open ramp, but there is something about the Jedi’s smile, about his focus on him that makes him feel like they might as well be the last two people in the galaxy. It’s unnerving. 

He straightens up, fingertips brushing against the blaster resting reassuringly in its holster. 

He can make this work. 

He will adjust.

“Where do we start?”

“That’s actually the first thing I will need your help with,” Skywalker switches tone effortlessly. His expression shifts to match the gravity of the conversation. “I’ve analyzed the data stick but the relevant files are heavily encrypted. I’ve had experts look over it, but no luck,” his brows draw together as if he just remembered something unpleasant. “Trying to pry it out of Gideon ended in a similar result.”

“You spoke to Gideon?”

Din’s stomach drops and he has to keep his hand from moving to his breastplate instinctively. He can still feel the blaster bolts ricocheting from his armor. 

“Yes,” Luke says carefully, now clearly sensing Din’s unease, “I know people who have access to him, it seemed the most logical place to start,” he clarifies and something dark crosses his eyes, “But he is nowhere near Grogu, I made sure of it.”

Din relaxes slightly. There are what feels like a hundred more questions he wants to ask about Grogu’s safety, his location, his caretakers, but in the end, he settles on moving on.

“Let me see what I can do about the encryption.”

Skywalker nods and pulls the data stick from his belt. Instead of handing it over, he places it on his gloved palm and Din watches in bewilderment as it hovers towards him.

The gesture seems so entirely unnecessary in comparison to seeing a Mudhorn float or a flamethrower stopped from roasting them alive. Din stares at the data stick for a couple of seconds before gingerly plucking it from where it’s floating in the air.

“Thank... you,” he says slowly, confusion evident in his voice.

He thinks he can see the hint of a grin pulling at the corner of Skywalker's lips but he walks out of the ship before he can confirm it.

He _can_ make this work. 

He _will_ adjust.

Din is so caught up in repeating those phrases over and over again, he doesn’t realize any thought of Gideon has completely escaped his mind.

* * *

He finds Greef not far from the ship. It seems he stepped out to see for himself what all the fuss was about. He can spot Cara besides the Falcon ruffling the Wookies fur without a care in the world.

“Nice ship,” Greef gives him a celebratory clap on the shoulder as he steps up beside him, “Truly a beauty worthy of a man with your lust for adventure!”

He knows Greefs encouragement comes from a good place, a place that wants to see him get back out there already, but the words still sting somehow.

“I need to find someone to decrypt this,” he hands the data stick to Greef, “Old Imperial.”

Greef accepts it and pulls a datapad from his coat. He surveys the encrypted files for a while, deep in thought. “I might know someone,” he says finally, handing the stick back, “But I’m not sure about their status. They’ll be able to decrypt it, but they might not like the reason you want it decrypted.”

“You think they are still loyal to the Empire?”

“Or to whatever comes after that,” Greef shrugs.

Din sighs but nods. He can already see how well showing up with the New Republics poster boy will go. “You’ve got coordinates?”

While they exchange coordinates he notices Skywalker making his way back from the ship to the Falcon, probably to bid his own goodbyes. As soon as he walks into Cara’s view all her attention shifts away from the Wookie. She has a wide grin on her face, a mischievous type of glint in her eyes that Din hasn’t seen before. He wonders if this is what she looked like when she was still a dropper.

Greef seems to notice his shift of attention and brings him back with a hand on his arm.

“You should know,” he says and Din is surprised when he hears genuine concern in his voice, “there is a bounty on his head. Not officially, no puck, no fob, but there are whispers if you listen closely enough.” 

Din doesn’t doubt him. A man like Skywalker must have many enemies. 

“I just hope he’s paying you more than the price on his head.”

Din thinks about that for a second, about the ship and the rations and the weapons, and the pay he has been promised upon completion of the contract. He thinks about just walking away, about leaving Grogu’s fate with the Jedi alone, as he did so many months ago. 

He comes to the conclusion that he does not care about the price on Skywalker’s head.

* * *

“You kriffin blew up the Death Star!” 

Din joins Skywalker under the Falcon just as Cara mimics an explosion with her hands.

“Two of them!”

“Only one,” Skywalker clarifies, a guarded smile on his lips as he ducks his head, ”And I had a lot of help.”

“And the Emperor _and_ Vader,” Cara continues undeterred, ”Just _kriffin_ amazing.”

Her excitement makes her blind to the flicker of something sad that passes over Skywalkers features. It’s gone so fast Din thinks he might be reading too much into it, but there definitely is a tightness to the Jedi's smile that wasn’t there before. He follows Skywalker's eyes as they dart towards the cockpit of the Falcon as if looking for someone.

“Again,” he says, just as friendly and calm as before, “It wasn't just me alone.”

Before Cara can say anything else Solo steps up behind Skywalker, seemingly done with whatever checks he was doing on the ship. He gets close, closer than Din would have expected to be considered casual for a man like Solo. He puts his arm firmly around the Jedi’s shoulders and Din watches as the tightness in Skywalker’s smile slowly bleeds away.

“You were a dropper?” Solo nods towards Cara’s tattoo, “That must have been a hell of a job. Ever hunted one of those bastards down into the Unknown Regions?” 

Solo easily directs the conversation away from Skywalker after that, shifting Cara’s attention back to her own days of service and Din wonders how many times he’s done this before. 

There is a weird dissonance, he realizes, between the Skywalker he saw on Gideon’s ship, the one walking out of the Millennium Falcon, and the one that speaks to Cara now. It's like he is the right person, the right part of himself for every occasion, all held together by the thin layer that he's starting to think of simply as ‘ _Jedi_ ’.

None of it feels insincere, every smile genuine and every comment good-natured, but there is something calculated about it, just like every slash of his sword was deliberate. It feels like there is always something missing as if he's looking at him from the wrong angle.

Maybe that's just what it's like when the whole galaxy is looking at you and you can't hide behind a helmet.

Din watches Skywalker thank Cara for her service, and he wonders what the Jedi is like when he talks to Grogu. 

* * *

The ship is fast, much faster than the Razor Crest. He can’t say he dislikes it.

Din is relieved when he manages to get the ship off Nevarro with only minimal assistance from Skywalker. He feels confident enough in his ability to fly on his own when the time comes.

The cockpit is quiet now and Din tries to imagine what it will feel like when he’s the only one inhabiting the ship. Skywalker has excused himself a while ago, but Din still knows he is somewhere around, like he was always aware of Grogu’s steady presence in the seat behind him. 

His thoughts drift easily towards memories of weeks upon weeks of one-sided conversations on the Razor Crest and he suddenly realizes how much time he'll be spending on this ship alone with the Jedi. The thought makes an unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty spread in the pit of his stomach that he doesn’t care to examine too closely. 

He leans his head back against the seat and lets the endless blue of hyperspace drift past his visor, slowly letting himself be taken under like wading into the quiet of a steady stream. 

* * *

Skywalker pops back into the cockpit just before they are about to drop out of hyperspace and Din blinks awake below the helmet without any indication he's ever been asleep.

To his surprise, the Jedi changed out of his dark robes. He’s still wearing mostly black - the same high boots, pants, and a simple shirt - but everything is slightly looser, slightly more run down. The starkest contrast is the yellow jacket. It’s obviously well worn, tattered, and ripped in a few places. Din is pretty sure he can spot a bloodstain or two. 

When Skywalker lets himself sink into the seat beside him he notices that the Jedi now has a blaster strapped around his leg too. His lightsaber is nowhere to be seen.

It hits Din then that this is the Jedi's attempt to blend in. 

It’s a good effort, clever really. But there is still this aura of _different_ that surrounds him and his neatly kempt hair isn’t helping either. Besides--

Din can’t stop the amused huff that escapes him and Skywalker turns to him with a resigned look in his eyes. “That bad?” he asks with a smile.

“No,” Din shakes his head and it’s hard to keep his tone neutral, “but your _friend_ was right about me attracting enough attention on my own.” He looks the Jedi up and down once more, notes the lack of a breastplate over his heart and all the cuts and tears in his jacket, “I’d rather you put your armor back on.”

“Armor?” Skywalker looks at him confused. 

“On Gideon’s ship.”

“I wasn’t wearing armor.”

Din is glad the Jedi can’t see his surprised face through his helmet, but it probably translates well enough with how fast his head snaps around to look at him. Skywalker has the decency to look at least a tiny bit sheepish.

“I never wear armor,” he says, “It restricts my movement.”

There are a lot of things Din wants to say to that, about how where they are going people often shoot first and ask questions later, how looking vulnerable will just make him more of a target, how not wearing armor is just plain stupid. But the Jedi’s eyes are sincere and steady and he swallows all of them and begins their descent into the atmosphere. 

Later, when people shoot at them first and don’t ask any questions at all, when they are both ducking their head while sprinting back towards the ship, he could swear he sees blaster bolts just bounce off the Jedi as if he was wearing an invisible force field.

That same day Din also learns that Luke Skywalker is an amazing shot and he thinks the universe is incredibly unfair.

* * *

After getting shot at two more times they finally find the right person to decrypt the data stick. Din goes alone and when he comes back with the decrypted files Skywalker doesn’t ask about the blood on his gauntlets.

Din is surprised to find that the Jedi seems to fully trust his capabilities, despite never having seen him fight. He wonders if Grogu had something to do with that. He also only sees him draw his lightsaber once, after Din gets hit square in the chest by heavy ammunition, and there is no way left for them to shoot themselves out. Despite the fact that it hasn’t worked in their favor so far, Skywalker always talks first and draws his blaster last.

Back on the ship, they pour over the data at the comm table, but even with their combined knowledge of Imperial operations and Outer Rim dealings, they can’t glean any concrete information from the documents. There are just too many crucial parts missing.

He knows they are on the right track - there are mentions of both Grogu and his 'M-Count', whatever that means - but all they can extract from the data stick, in the end, is a list of ex-Imperial bases that seem to somehow be connected to the experiments. 

They spent hours and hours trying to cross-reference the bases with the latest New Republic data to decide which are most likely to hold relevant information. Din can feel his vision start to swim, the text on his datapad blurring through his visor. 

When he finally retreats to his quarters, frustrated and itching to do anything else with his hands than swipe through walls of information, he leaves Skywalker hunched over a datapad at the common room table.

Din steps out a couple of hours later to find him right where he left him, eyes closed in a restless sleep and a perfectly charted holo map flickering in front of him.

* * *

The first base they visit has been freshly reclaimed by the New Republic and Din is relieved when Skywalker agrees with his suggestion to stay on board. He watches from the shadow of the cockpit as the Jedi steps out on the landing pad, immediately surrounded by hands reaching out towards him and laughter that is audible even through the thick walls of the ship.

When Skywalker returns to sit beside him in the cockpit, he is very still, for a very long time.

They gain no new information and Din punches in the coordinates for the next base.

* * *

Given the risks they have to take with each base they visit, the holo map they are following is charted based on whatever bases are most likely to yield results. It significantly increases the chance of finding relevant information, but it also means the bases on top of the list are not necessarily the ones closest together.

On the days where they just drift steadily through hyperspace Din busies himself with cataloging the weapons in the hold. 

The Jedi always seems to have something to do, some text to pour over or some meditation to practice, but for Din, there isn't much available in the form of entertainment. 

So he sits on the floor of the front cargo hold, whatever weapon just caught his attention laid out on a makeshift table of crates. Weapons might be part of his religion, and as such he appreciates the hunting rifle currently in front of him, but a lot of his relationship with them is very practical. His desire to make himself familiar with everything in the hold is directly related to his desire to not die because his blaster jammed in a firefight. 

He tries his best to ignore it, but as he slowly makes his way through their arsenal, the darksaber keeps persistently making its way to the front of his mind. Sometimes it’s the memory of its blade against his armor, sometimes it’s simply the way the hilt scapes against metal when he lowers himself down on the floor.

Today it’s the latter. He shifts his weight mindlessly and nearly drops the rifle as a sharp metallic _clang_ echoes off the ship's walls. He takes the darksaber off his belt reluctantly to place it to the side.

He thought about just stowing it away somewhere in a crate, about never looking at it again and hoping Bo-Katan would eventually get over herself and take it. But he’s seen what it can do in the wrong hands, and his might not be the right ones either, but as long as it’s securely on his belt it at least means no one is causing havoc with it.

Holding it now the hilt of the darksaber feels impossibly heavy in his palm, as if it’s taunting him. 

"Want me to show you how to use it?"

Din’s head snaps up, startled. He didn’t hear the Jedi approach. 

Skywalker leans in the doorway, eyes fixed on the darksaber. 

"It's a sword," Din answers simply, "I know how to use a sword."

Skywalker smiles at that, small and knowing. "Alright," he says as he pushes himself off the doorway and makes his way towards Din. "Why don't we give it a go then?"

Din’s eyes snap to the lightsaber that seems to have just appeared in the Jedi's gloved hand.

He feels something sudden and cold rush through his veins at the thought of sparring with him. He is very aware of his own strength, of his ability to hold his own against droids and dragons, but he's seen Skywalker fight. The effortless grace, the ruthless precision, and the deadly force of his blows. It might just be a sword but Din is not vain enough to underestimate his opponent.

Skywalker, sensing his hesitation, raises an eyebrow.

"I won't use my _powers_ ," he says, and he enunciates ‘powers’ in a way that tells Din that that's not the correct word to use for the things he's seen the Jedi and Grogu do.

When Din stands to push the crates and rifle to the side to make room he can feel his pulse in his throat. If he loses he might at least be able to convince Skywalker to take the damned thing off his hands.

They get in position opposite each other and Skywalker ignites his blade first, giving it a few easy spins with barely a flick of his wrist. It looks playful. Din wonders if he should be offended that the Jedi doesn’t seem to see him as a worthy opponent.

He ignites the darksaber and takes a second to try and accustom himself to the strange pull and vibration of the blade. But his grip on the hilt doesn’t stop to feel anything but _strange_ and _unwanted_. He nods at Skywalker regardless. 

He raises the blade as the Jedi makes his first step towards him. When Skywalker swings his lightsaber his movements are deliberately slow, no doubt for Din’s benefit, and for a moment he thinks he might stand a chance. He tightens his grip around the hilt, angling it to block, anticipating the feeling of the blow in _one_ , _tw_ \---

The blades _crash_ together abruptly as if time skipped a beat, drawn together like magnets. 

The force of it shakes him to the core, a flood of emotions rushing into him - _pain and loss, desperation, anger, and fear_ \- breath stuck in his throat, feet slipping out from underneath him. 

He sees Skywalker’s eyes go wide in surprise, then everything goes out of focus.

The next thing he consciously registers is the hard metal of the floor against his back, and the sharp sound of the darksaber skitting across the floor. His hands are empty and Skywalker is a warm weight on top of him, legs straddling his hips with surprising strength. The green glow of the lightsaber at his throat casts an eerie shadow across the Jedi's wide-eyed face. 

“Dead,” he says, barely a whisper and the blade retracts.

For just a second, with his heartbeat rushing in his ears and his breath stuttering behind his visor - with the despair of his ancestors lodged deep inside his chest - Din wishes he was.

Skywalker doesn’t ask him to spar again after that.

* * *

Logically Din knows that the Jedi must be in communication with Grogu and his caretakers. He’s seen him on the holo com at the command table before, but the first time he hears Grogu’s name spoken out loud, it still startles him.

“ _Grogu still has some issues with his sleep schedule, but he’s settling nicely,_ ”, the woman on the hologram assures Skywalker who nods, seemingly pleased. “ _Artoo has his hand’s full chasing after him._ ”

“What about his training,” he hears Skywalker say and Bo-Katan's voice shoots into Din's mind like shards of glass. 

_Once the Jedi take them, you can never see them again. This is the way._

He hits the button to close the cockpit doors on panicked instinct more than anything else. The door closes with a dull thud and the voices behind it become muffled background noise.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to know, he does, more than anything else he wants to know. What he eats, why he has issues sleeping, how his training is going, who the Artoo is that’s looking after him. Most of all he wants to know if he’s safe, if he’s _happy_.

But this is how it has to be, he tells himself. 

_This is the Way._

He can’t train him, can’t protect him, but for just a little longer he can be here, steering Skywalker to wherever he needs to be to do the things Din is not capable of himself.

And so Din doesn’t ask and the Jedi offers no information in return.

* * *

Some nights they are both awake and unoccupied and Din learns about the Force, the Jedi’s even voice and cryptic explanations lulling him into an easy peace.

Other nights they are both awake and restless and Din learns that one of the only things he seems to be able to best Skywalker at is Sabacc. 

He knows that his lack of readable facial expression might have something to do with that, but he also learns that it’s incredibly funny to watch the Jedi try to hide his frustration, just to be betrayed by random kitchen appliances levitating off the shelves.

* * *

The second base they visit is in ruins, scorched duracreet filling their lungs with smoke. Whatever secrets this place once held, they are all gone, not a single functioning terminal left to even plug a data stick in. When he takes his armor off at night, in the safety of the captain’s quarters, dust puffs into the air like a cloud of smoke.

He tosses and turns in his bed, muscles strained from traversing imperial ruins, but untapt energy coursing through his body all the same. Part of him longs for the stiff cot on the Razor Crest, for the rattling of the ship's walls as it got dragged around by the whims of hyperspace. All of him longs for the soft breathing of a small green child sleeping in its hammock above him.

But the mattress underneath him is soft and as the ship glides silently through space the only sound around him his own frustrated breathing. 

Reminiscent of many sleepless nights on Nevarro he gets up and starts cleaning his armor. He takes his time, but the process still feels too fast, not peaceful enough. Once he is done he puts it on, piece by piece, in a feeble attempt to make his brain accept this task as enough busy work to allow him to finally go to sleep.

When it doesn’t work he resigns himself to checking the ship for any damages he might have missed when the Imperial base crumbled to dust underneath them. 

He finds Skywalker meditating in the hull, legs crossed, arms folded in his lap, levitating in the middle of the room. He wants to walk away, feeling oddly like he’s intruding on something private, but something keeps him just at the edge of the room.

A feeling of calm and peace washes over him, of warm sand under his feet and the soft light of setting twin suns, and he feels his eyelids drop behind the visor, suddenly ready to make his way back to bed.

On his way back up he notices that Skywalker's bed is freshly made, corners tucked the same way he found them when they first boarded the ship and he somehow can’t recall a single time the Jedi has ever retreated to his room to sleep.

* * *

“Why did you decide to trust me,” Din asks one morning when they are sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. It’s a thought that has been knocking around his head ever since he saw Solo's terrified reaction to his mere presence.

Skywalker looks up at him from the book he’s been studying and for a second Din thinks he might have to elaborate. But then the Jedi ducks his head with a smile.

“Because you wanted to see him with your own eyes,” Skywalker says and the quietness in his voice surprises Din.

The Jedi sounds far away somehow and he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something crucial. He watches Skywalker rub the wrist of his gloved hand and when he looks up at him again Din could swear he sees tears shining in his eyes. 

He doesn’t push and Skywalker excuses himself to check their navigation.

* * *

After he commits every single weapon in the hold to memory, Din finds himself cataloging more and more things about the Jedi instead. Small observations that carve out a space in his mind unbidden.

He learns that while confined to the ship Skywalker seems to prefer leaving his yellow jacket up in the cockpit and his boots beside his bed. His bare feet make no sound on the metal floors and it takes Din a while until he stops reaching for his vibroknife every time the Jedi appears behind him unannounced.

When he watches Skywalker make tea with rolled-up sleeves, he catalogs the scars dancing with the movement of his forearms, and notes how the black glove on his right hand is a strange contradiction to smooth skin. 

He observes when the Jedi quietly pours two cups but only ever takes one, leaving the second warmed on the stove until Din picks it up when retreating to his quarters.

More often than not he is left confused by the look the Jedi gives him whenever he catches him staring, how he holds his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and resolve and something Din isn’t able to interpret at all.

On rare occasions, his hand accidentally brushes against Skywalker's shoulder, the fabric of his shirt warm under Din’s gloves, and it makes the contrast to his armor feel very sharp.

* * *

The third base finally yields some results, and Din is nearly glad to get shot at again.

There is not much left of this base either, merely a skeleton crew that is swiftly dealt with. But the laboratory is mostly intact, although seemingly abandoned. They make their way through rows of empty bacta tanks and cleared out storage containers until they reach a walk-in cold storage.

The stench behind the door is grueling, even through the cold. He can feel his eyes watering behind his helmet as he watches Skywalker press his gloved hand above his mouth and nose.

There is a pile of bodies unceremoniously laid out in the middle of the room, discharged like waste instead of living creatures. When they step closer Din recognizes two previous bounty pucks amongst the dead.

“What happened to them,” he asks and immediately regrets opening his mouth as the stench seeps into his tongue. He crouches down beside Skywalker to examine them.

“They were working with a clone engineer,” the Jedi says, voice strained. ”Maybe they were looking for a viable donor.”

“But why kill them?”

To Din’s horror, he watches as the Jedi reaches out and turns one of the bodies over, examining it further. His brows are drawn, expression strained as if he can feel their pain.

“Maybe not viable enough," he mutters to himself before he stands with a sigh.

They call on the New Republic to pick up the bodies.

* * *

They stop for fuel two towns over - far enough to not immediately run into a full platoon of Imperials, but close enough to maybe still be able to get some information on what happened at the laboratory. 

They split up before entering the town’s cantina, Skywalker slipping in after Din once his armor draws the patron’s eyes for a few precious seconds. By the time the crowd resumes their business, the Jedi has already made his way to the bar chatting up its service droid.

Din is painfully aware of how much Skywalker sticks out amongst the patrons, even wearing casual clothing. There is a calm and stillness surrounding him always, like an invisible forcefield, a beacon of strangeness and charm.

Din takes a moment to survey the place from his spot at the door. There is an uneasy feeling prickling at the back of his neck, the type that usually keeps him alive in places like this.

He spots its origin quickly. There are two bounty hunters leaning against the wall just behind Skywalker.

Up until now, they’ve been too far out and too fast for any hunters to catch up or even notice them, but the second Greef warned him he knew that it would only be a matter of time. He doubts those two have been following them around, or are actively looking for Skywalker, but they are a threat nonetheless. 

He walks up to the bar and slides onto the seat next to Skywalker barely a second before one of the hunters, a gangly human, makes his way over. 

The Jedi doesn’t acknowledge Din and he realizes with some relief that he must have noticed the hunters too. He keeps up the charade by flagging down the service droid, deliberately paying no mind as the hunter slides up to Skywalkers left.

"Don't I know you?” the man drawls and Din’s hand slowly moves towards his blaster. “Aren't you the guy who--" 

Besides him, Skywalker smiles and raises his fingers towards the man in a small wave.

"You don't know me."

"I don't know you," the hunter parrots, eyes suddenly vacant and far away. 

Hand still firmly on his blaster, Din watches as the man's shoulders slump like a puppet whose strings have been cut. A chill runs down his spine, the same cold sensation that spreads through your veins when you are staring into the eyes of something _lethal_.

"You'll take your companion,” Skywalker continues with another wave of his hand, voice stern but calm, “Make your way out of the bar and leave town." 

"I'll take my companion, make my way out of the bar, and leave town," the man repeats and Din watches in a mixture of horror and fascination as he turns, grabs his companion, and drags him out of the cantina.

Skywalker takes a sip of his drink then calmly looks up at Din. 

"Weak minds are susceptible to suggestion," he says as if that explains anything. 

" _Suggestion_?" Din hisses and a sudden burst of irritation flares up in his chest. 

He idly wonders if that is part of the same short-lived survival instinct he felt when he saw Skywalker stand over a pile of dead bodies, or if it’s just the pent up adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The Jedi chuckles, actually _chuckles,_ and Din is about to lose it. 

"The force flows through every living thing," Skywalker starts, "and thus, just as with objects around me, it allows me to gently push certain minds into the right direction." 

Din just cocks his head at him, not trusting anything that might come out of his mouth.

"If it's any consolation,” the Jedi shrugs with a grin “I don't think it would work on you. You're too stubborn." 

"I'm not _stubborn_ ," Din snaps and immediately regrets opening his mouth. The feeling in his chest spreads, ugly and unbidden.

The Jedi just raises an amused eyebrow at him before he sips his drink again. 

A strange silence stretches between them, their usual quiet camaraderie suddenly knocked off balance. Din still can’t put his finger on what exactly snapped inside of him, but he has the overwhelming urge to drag the Jedi back to the ship where it’s just the two of them.

"So there’s a price on my head," Skywalker says finally, tone deceptively casual. 

“Yes.” 

"You don't sound surprised."

“No,” Din sighs as the urge to grab him and run grows stronger. He wills himself to sit still, to take a steadying breath. _What the hell is wrong with him._

“Ah,” Skywalker laughs, and it's small and rueful. “Planning on turning me in then?”

And Din doesn’t know what does it, if it’s the laugh that says the Jedi wouldn't actually be surprised if he did, or if it's just simple practicality and instinct, but he reaches up with a gloved hand and drags it through Skyealker’s picture-perfect hair. 

The Jedi goes very, _very_ still.

“There,” Din says, and his voice sounds foreign even to his own ears. “Now you might actually blend in.”

He can’t decipher the look on Skywalker’s face, but it makes something in his chest feel impossibly tight.

* * *

Later, when they’re leaving the planet's atmosphere, endless blue turning into endless black, when the quiet hum of the ship mingles with the quietness of their breathing, the feeling in his chest finally ebbs away. 

The silence that stretches between them is comfortable once more as Din watches the Jedi sets their next coordinates from the corner of his eye. His hair is still in playful disarray.

It suits him, he thinks and wonders if Skywalker--

“It’s _Luke_.” 

Din freezes. He remembers Ashoka communicating with Grogu on a purely telepathic basis, but he didn’t think-- 

His thoughts fizzle out when the Jedi turns towards him with a smile on his lips that he hasn’t seen before. It’s small and soft and achingly _private_.

“You can call me Luke.”

Din wants to ask if he knows the significance of giving out one's name like that, but he figures it might be very different for someone who's created a living mythos around himself.

The last time Din said his own name he could taste blood on his tongue. 

Now he can feel his heartbeat race in his throat. 

“Din,” he says, breath coming too quickly, “Din Djarin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Din: grows rapidly attached to another smoll feral jedi traveling with him on his ship_   
>  _Also Din: what is this strange feeling in my body is it fear?? adrenalin??? we shall never know_
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me through chapter one - I’ve got 6 chapters planned and I have like 32 pages worth of notes, but I’m still in burnout recovery so bear with me while I fight my way through this monster of a fic. If you’re curious about Din’s ship you can find it [by clicking here](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kom%27rk-class_fighter/transport/Canon)!
> 
> Next up - Luke gets hurt (gently) and Din gets reunited with the covert (violently)!


	2. The Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After he commits every single smile and movement of the Jedi to memory, Din finds himself cataloging more and more of his own feelings instead. Small observations that carve out a space in his mind unbidden._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW - _they meet a spider in the first three paragraphs, it hurts Luke a bit, but it’s not super graphic and the spider ends up being nice_
> 
> Thank you so much again to [capdjarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capdjarin/pseuds/capdjarin) for beta reading this!

Din still distinctly remembers the dry heat he endured on his track to slay the Krayt dragon. How it seemed to roast him alive inside his armor, and how the fabric of his clothing scratched against dry skin, and how the sand seemed to linger in every single fold for weeks.

The heat on Kashyyyk is nothing like that.

Instead of a steady constant present, it is swift and overwhelming, and a wet moistness clings to his neck as soon as they lower the ship's ramp. Beside him, Skywalker starts rolling up the sleeves of his yellow jacket before he thinks better of it and takes it off altogether.

“Ready?” the Jedi huffs and Din gets momentarily distracted by the way he drags his gloved hand through his already damp hair. He notices the sweat that’s starting to collect on Skywalker's neck and curses the heat for making his thoughts feel so disjointed and woozy. 

With a curt nod, they start their exploration of base four. 

According to all the data that they cross-referenced again on their way here it should be abandoned, both by Imperials and the locals alike. But it was once a thriving hub and had been mentioned in the encrypted data more than once, so after their moderate success so far Din had suggested it might be worth trying to pull data from one of the older terminals. Whatever the Empire was doing it was unlikely they had just started it up amidst their destruction. 

As it turns out, they are not the only ones who decided to go back to Imperial origins.

Deep in the base, they find a small group of stormtroopers and officers in a cargo bay, huddled around a couple of lonely crates. Skywalker sees them first, raising his fist to signal Din to stop. They press themselves against either side of a crumbling blast door, taking stock.

Din has learned that the Jedi is nothing if not methodical, strategic in any approach he takes, always cautious to spare life rather than take it. With that in mind, Din follows his train of thought relatively quickly - the Imperials haven’t noticed them yet, their uniforms are dirty and lived in, and there is no sign of any backup. They don't need to dispose of them to reach their goal, though Din has every confidence that they could do so easily.

He raises slightly from his crouch and turns his gaze towards Skywalker who nods in silent agreement and does the same. 

They are about two steps away when the Jedi suddenly freezes, then whips his head around towards the blast door. Din tenses and turns around with him, unholstering his blaster. But instead of the expected Imperials rushing towards them he watches as a huge spider descends upon their enemies. Within seconds the cargo bay is ablaze with frantic blaster shots and screams.

Well, that’s that problem solved then. He is more than content with just letting the spider do their job for them. 

Skywalker apparently is not. 

Before Din can even register what’s happening, the Jedi ignites his lightsaber and rushes forward. 

Din follows just in time to see him catapult one of the stormtroopers over a ledge with a flick of his wrist and deflect the blaster fire of two others with his saber. For a second time seems to stand still, as if the world around them needs to adjust to the shift in power balance, and the Imperials seem visibly torn between who presents the biggest threat.

Neither Din nor the spider are patient enough to wait for their decision. He shoots one of the stormtroopers square in the chest, just as the spider impales one of the officers with its legs.

Beside him Din can see Skywalker fight off the last two stormtroopers, slicing through one of their blasters before he catapults the second one over the same ledge with a well-timed kick to his chest. For a second Din is drawn to the smoothness of his movements, to how incredibly mindful he is of the spider, dodging its legs and attacks but never attacking back.

Din tears himself away just in time to leap between the last standing Imperial officer and the Jedi, a blaster bolt ricocheting off his armor just seconds before he pulls the trigger of his own weapon. 

He doesn’t hear the body hit the floor over the blood-curdling scream behind him.

Din whips around to see the last stormtrooper slowly dissolving in a puddle of green sludge. 

Then his eyes snap to Luke.

The Jedi’s lips are drawn tight, face uncharacteristically pale, and Din’s stomach drops as he sees smoke coming off his left arm and chest. Even from his current position, he can see the fabric of his shirt disintegrating, and he realizes with cold clarity that some of the spider's acid spray must have hit him as well. 

Judging by the scream that had erupted from the stormtrooper it must hurt like hell, but Luke barely even makes a sound, feet planted steady on the floor. To Din’s horror, he watches the Jedi retract his lightsaber just as the spider makes a looming step forward.

_Dank Farrik._

Din raises his blaster at the spider, choosing to aim at one of its eyes, but before he can pull the trigger an invisible force pushes him to the side and a long, long way out of the way. He skids and only comes to a halt by bumping into the far sidewall of the cargo bay.

He shakes his head dazed and immediately raises his blaster again, just to realize he’s out of range. Sudden anger crashes over him like a wave breaking on shore. 

He is aware of their power imbalance, welcomes it even, but as he’s learned the hard way with the Krayt Dragon, his armor is significantly more acid-resistant than Skywalker’s shirt. He does not appreciate being pushed aside when he could _help_.

He starts running just as the Jedi raises his uninjured hand towards the spider. Skywalker closes his eyes and Din can see his whole body heaving with a long steadying breath. Din’s hand tightens around his blaster ready to shoot the second he--

In front of him, the spider calms and bows its head.

Din skids to a halt as a realization hits him just as sudden and crushing as the anger that shot through his veins a second earlier.

Luke wasn’t protecting him. He was protecting the _spider_.

Din weirdly feels like another piece just clicked, like he’s seen the Jedi from yet another angle, even though he still can’t fully make sense of any of it. His hand stays on the blaster, but he lowers it. 

Inching forward, just one small shuffle of his feet at a time, he watches in awe as the spider slowly calms and retreats. It’s as if Luke had somehow communicated to it that everything was alright, that it was safe once again, and Din thinks of sleepless nights on the ship and the feeling of warm sand under his feet.

* * *

As soon as the spider is gone Din holsters the blaster and sprints forward. 

He reaches the Jedi just in time to steady him as his knees start to give out. His face is somehow even paler than before, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead in messy swirls. 

He pulls Skywalker’s uninjured arm around his neck to support him, dragging him towards a small recreational area they passed on their way in. He knows he has to treat the burns with bacta spray as soon as possible, but he'd still rather not do it out in the open.

There is not much left in terms of furniture, but Din spots a dusty table in the middle of the room that looks sturdy enough. He leans the Jedi against the edge of the table as carefully as his haste will allow and is relieved to see that Skywalker can keep himself upright, if barely.

Faint smoke is still rising from his arm, the left sleeve disintegrated into tattered pieces of cloth. Din can see red skin underneath it, burnt and angry. He needs to get the fabric off the wound _now_.

He reaches for his vibroblade, grabs the collar of Skywalker’s shirt, and unceremoniously cuts the front down the middle. He discards the blade on the table with a clang and goes on to grab the cut halves of the fabric to pull them _off--_

There is a sudden push at his chest, soft but insistent, keeping his hands just out of reach.

It’s not physical, the same dizzying sensation as before when Skywalker pushed him out of the spider’s range. When he kept him away so he couldn’t _hurt_ it.

Din’s eyes snap up to the Jedi’s face and it's only then he realizes how stricken Luke looks. How his eyes are downcast, lips and brows drawn tight. How his hands grip the edge of the table so hard it must hurt.

"I'm sorry," Din rasps, throat suddenly dry. 

Luke is obviously in pain, but something else is wrong, something that has nothing to do with the burn and everything with Din touching him.

Where helplessness crashed over him like an angry wave before, it now threatens to pull him under instead, drowning him as he watches Luke lean away from him further. 

Din takes a step back, raising his hands ever so slightly and the pressure on his chest eases away slowly. In front of him, Luke takes a deep breath and seems to will himself to calm down. His exhale is shaky and he takes another, then another, and finally his chest heaves in even intervals. 

Only then he starts opening his shirt himself, pulling the pieces off inch by inch. It's a painstaking process but Din doesn't dare to interfere. Instead, he busies himself with taking the bacta spray and bandages out of his back pouch to lay them out on the table ready for use.

Din only looks up when he sees the mostly intact right half of Luke’s shirt slide down on the table. His breath gets stuck in his throat.

Luke's chest is covered in scars.

Some Din recognizes, cuts and scrapes, old and faded as if sustained during play rather than battle. Others he identifies through personal experiences, like the angry star shape of a blaster burn on Luke’s left shoulder, or the ragged cut of a vibroblade across his hip. But there is one, a pattern of scars that stretches over his whole torso like the vines of a tree, that Din has never seen before.

It’s achingly beautiful and just as petrifying. _What did that_ , Din thinks but doesn’t ask.

Luke isn't looking at him. He hasn’t looked at him for a long while. But his breathing is even and controlled, the pressure on Din’s chest gone, and the air around them is calm once more.

And so Din squares up and takes a step forward again. He reaches out slowly, deliberately choreographing his movements, and as gentle as possible starts peeling off the last remains of tattered fabric. 

Luke lets him. 

Din finally gets a good look at the burn and a relieved sigh escapes his lips when he realizes it’s not as bad as he thought. He carefully wraps his hand around Luke’s wrist, mindful not to irritate any of the burns with his gloves, and starts applying the bacta spray with the other.

Slowly he watches something change in Luke's posture and a small tired smile spreads over the Jedi’s lips. He still doesn’t look at Din, but where he was pushing him away before, he now leans into the contact, angles his shoulder towards Din even though it must strain his burns.

Din wonders about that for a second, about how contradictory it is. But he watches the Jedi’s hand flex in his grip and how he pushes his legs out so the tips of their boots touch, and he thinks he understands.

He thinks he understands because he knows how long it has been since someone touched him with the same care. Since someone just looked after him, approached him without fear, and he thinks of how he might have reacted the same way if their roles were reversed.

So he tightens his grip around Luke’s wrist and steps closer and he doesn’t keep their ankles from brushing as he moves between Luke’s legs to get a better angle for bandaging the wound.

When Luke rests his forehead against his chest with a shaky exhale he keeps going, undeterred.

They stay like this for a long while, even after the bandage is securely fastened, and for a moment everything is reduced to nothing but cool beskar against flushed skin, the universe but a quiet hum around them.

Din never lets go of the Jedi’s wrist.

* * *

Skywalker insists that they finish exploring the base, even amidst Din’s protests that he needs to rest. But the Jedi points out that it would be a shame to leave now that all dangers seem to be dealt with, and Din can’t argue with that.

Before they leave, he takes off his cape and hands it to Skywalker. The heat on Kashyyyk might still be overwhelming, but the terrain is rough and not made to be traversed without any sort of protective clothing. The Jedi hesitates for a second but then accepts it and wraps it around his torso, fastening the ends around his hips with his belt. He’s careful to leave his bandaged arm out of the fabric.

It doesn’t quell any of Din’s concerns, but it makes him feel marginally less useless.

To his relief Skywalker is right and the rest of the base is blessedly empty. Unfortunately, that also means they don’t find a single working terminal or anything else of use. The further they go the more he notices how Luke has to keep holding on to the walls for support. He can see the beads of sweat clinging to his forehead and neck, and he knows they need to head back soon, or he will have to carry him out of there.

Din is about to say as much, when the Jedi stills suddenly, much like he did hours ago. They turn in unison to see the spider standing at the end of the hallway.

Din reaches for his blaster on instinct, but Luke puts his gloved hand over his before he can draw. “She wants us to follow her,” he says as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

Din wishes the Jedi could see the look of disbelief he is throwing his way behind the helmet. He very seriously considers just throwing Skywalker over his shoulder and forcibly carrying him back to the ship, because he clearly lost his mind.

But the Jedi already steps forward, without even a sliver of fear, and Din can’t do much else than follow with a long-suffering sigh. 

The spider ends up leading them to the only functioning terminal left in the base, its warm glow the perfect environment to nest its eggs, and Din silently vows to reconsider his stance on deadly eight-legged creatures.

* * *

Despite Din’s worries, they make it back to the ship in one piece and on their own two feet. It’s only later, when they are accelerating out of the planet's atmosphere that he looks over to see the Jedi out like a light in the copilot's seat beside him.

He threatens to slide out of the chair, so Din sets the ship to autopilot and hoists Skywalker up with his uninjured arm wrapped around his shoulder. The exhaustion mixed with the effects of the bacta spray make him pliable in Din’s grip, head lolling against his chest. Luke's eyes flutter open for a second, but he doesn’t seem to have the energy to protest as Din leads him down to the crew quarters on shaky feet.

The bed is still perfectly made, pristine corners wrinkling and un-tucking when Din lays him carefully down on the mattress. He eases the blanket free from under him and after a moment of hesitation moves to pull off his dirt clumped boots. He decides to leave the rest, afraid to jostle his injuries too much. 

Luke’s skin is flushed, sweat still sticking to his forehead and Din realizes he should probably at least check him for a fever before he leaves. After another moment of hesitation, he pulls his left glove off and gently places the back of his hand on Luke’s forehead. 

It’s warm but he doesn’t seem to be burning up - just a mild side effect from the bacta spray. Din lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

It’s strange seeing the Jedi like this, barefoot, grimy, and ruffled, with Din’s cape wrapped around him like a frayed embrace. It’s strange seeing him look human. 

It’s strange to touch him as well, skin against skin without any layers between them. Strange how part of him thought any bare touch would make him immediately combust, torn apart like anything that dares to step into the Jedi’s path.

 _Oh, it’s strange_ how all of this makes something pull at his chest, small but insistent, familiar and yet entirely new.

Din snaps out of his thoughts when Luke’s eyes flutter open again. He pulls his hand back and for a second he thinks he sees something akin to fear in the Jedi’s eyes. But then his eyes roll back and he is out again.

“Rest,” Din says quietly, pulls the blanket up over him, and leaves. 

With the cockpit empty he tries to go through the encrypted data, but it proves useless, so he punches in the coordinates of the next base instead.

* * *

Din snaps awake with bile rising in his throat and the pilot's seat vibrating beneath him.

He swallows hard, once, twice, then leans forward to check the ship’s controls. Hyperdrive interference, maybe an issue with their fuel line, maybe--

All the displays are steady, controls humming obediently under his fingertips. 

_What the--_

It feels different too, different than anything he felt before, like the whole ship is alive with _something_. There is dread pooling in his stomach that’s distinctly not his.

Then the rattling stops as abruptly as it started.

He gives the controls a last once over and pulls his blaster out of its holster. He makes it to the ramp down to the ground floor of the ship before he hears a telltale retching sound coming from the crew quarters.

Din speeds up, his own dread now tangling in his gut with the echo of someone else's. He finds the door to the crew quarters open, just how he left it, but the door to the fresher is closed. Where he sprinted down the ramp before, he now feels frozen at the door, fingers curling around its frame, unsure.

He wonders briefly if one of their rations had gone bad or if it could possibly be an infection from the spider burn, but then his gaze falls on the Jedi’s cot. The sheets are rumpled as if Luke had fought against them in his sleep, sweat stains on his pillow and sheets. 

Din has seen his own bed often enough, sheets rumpled just the same after a nightmare that won't shake itself even after you wake up. That makes the bile rise in your throat and leaves you retching. 

He takes a step into the room, but is immediately reminded of a phantom pressure against his chest, keeping him out of range. He has this sudden feeling that even just his presence must be intrusion enough.

It's then that he notices the edges of Luke's mattress, where his fingers must have dug in, holding on for dear life. They are black and scorched as if they'd been struck by lightning. 

Din turns and goes to retrieve a set of fresh sheets from his quarters, but when he returns the door is already closed. 

He sleeps in his armor that night, just in case. 

* * *

When Din emerges from the captain’s quarters the next day Skywalker is already at the table, reading and calmly sipping a cup of tea. Din’s cape is neatly folded over the chair opposite him, and there is a second cup of steaming tea waiting on the stove. 

“I sent the data we recovered yesterday off to be analysed,” the Jedi informs him as a way of greeting. He looks up with a small smile when Din steps up to the table to take his cape back. His gaze falls back on the texts before him once Din starts to fasten the cape back around his neck.

Skywalker is so eerily calm, so composed, that Din is reminded of the moment he holds his breath just before pulling the trigger on his rifle.

The bandage on his left arm is only barely poking out of his shirt, the sliver of white a contrast against black fabric. It's a new one, a high collar, closed off and proper, and Din can’t help but think it’s somehow fitting for how the Jedi presents himself to him now - Free of grime, sweat, and the frayed edges of Din’s cape. 

His hair is smoothed down neatly once more and Din fights down the urge to drag his fingers through it. 

It should feel strange to see him this composed after yesterday, but it doesn’t. Because it’s not actually new, Din realizes. Because he’s seen the Jedi do this for weeks.

He’s seen him smile that _smile_ , distant and calm, when Din steps out of his quarters in the morning. He’s seen him make tea with a gloved hand that’s deceptively steady. He’s seen him catch restless fitfulls of sleep on the uncomfortable recline of the kitchen chairs, seen him meditate into the night and pour over ancient texts and steer the ship, way past the time Din retreats for the night. 

He’s seen him do everything but sleep in his own bed.

He didn’t understand it then, didn’t have a reference point for it. And he doesn't think he really understands it now, doesn't think he ever truly will. But now he _notices_. 

Now he’s seen the scorched sheets, he smelled the sweat in the air, felt the dread vibrating through the ship’s walls. He’s felt how Luke pushed him away from his scars and leaned into his touch even though it strained his injuries.

And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's caught a glimpse of what happens when the Jedi lets his guard down. Of what it’s like to look at him from the right angle.

It’s so easy to just let his observations morph with Luke’s overall aura of _different_ , but something is nagging at the back of Din’s mind, small and persistent, and he can’t shake the feeling that something shifted between them.

He just isn’t sure if whatever it was got catapulted out of orbit or snapped into place.

When he moves to take his cup of tea up to the quiet of the cockpit he notes with some relief that Luke’s feet are still bare, boots forgotten at his bed.

* * *

The bandage on the Jedi’s arm is gone once they approach the next base. It’s been barely twenty-four hours, the coordinates lining up in their favor for once, and Din feels compelled to ask him if he’s really feeling alright enough to tackle their next stop.

He looks over at Luke and the question dies on his lips with a soft exhale.

Because he also feels compelled to ask why he didn’t come to him for help with applying a second layer of bacta spray. Or how he slept. If he slept. He feels compelled to ask about Grogu and the nightmares and if there is anything at all he can do besides piloting this ship. 

But the Jedi’s hair is smoothed down neatly, and his collar is closed all the way up, and somehow none of these questions feel right.

He looks back out at the clouds engulfing them as they slowly descend through atmo. He wants to let it go, wants to focus on what he’s been hired to do, he does, and yet--

“Back at the Cantina, did you really think I would turn you in?”

Luke stays quiet beside him and Din knows his answer.

“I’m sorry,” Din says quietly.

“What for?” there is an unusual edge of surprise in the Jedi’s voice as he turns to look at Din.

“You sounded…” and Din fishes for the right word, something that might accurately describe the rueful tone of Luke's laugh, but in the end, he only lands on, “...sad.”

Luke looks away then and the same resigned look flits across his eyes. Din’s fingers itch with the need to reach out, a sudden need to comfort rising hot in his chest. He keeps his hands steady on the ship’s controls. 

“It can’t be easy having so many people after you,” he says instead and it sounds like a hollow phrase even to his own ears. To his surprise, Luke laughs.

“That’s not what made me ‘sad,’” he says, and Din is thrown to get an actual answer.

He turns to him and tilts his head waiting. There is a long pause and It’s not like the Jedi to be struggling for words, but he’s definitely fighting with something in his mind. His eyes are trained on the disappearing clouds in front of them, left hand absentmindedly rubbing the skin above his glove.

Finally, he sighs, long and weary. When he speaks his voice is so quiet that Din has to strain to hear him above the rattle of the engines. 

“I got _sad,”_ he says, ”because I thought that I might have to take Grogu’s father from him.”

There is nothing Din can say to that, so he starts the landing sequence and carefully sets them back down on solid ground.

  
  


* * *

The base has been taken over by a gaggle of bounty hunters, and Din practically carries Luke back to the ship before they can spot him. Just because he knows the Jedi could defend himself fine doesn’t mean he has to willingly put him in harm's way.

He goes back in alone and barters some of their rations away in exchange for information that turns out to be useless. When he returns Luke smiles at him, distant and calm, and Din wants to stretch out his hand to--

At night he wakes as the walls of the ship vibrate and feels unshed tears sting in his eyes before the warmth of setting twin suns drags him back to sleep.

* * *

“You look tired, Commander,” the woman flickering on the holo projector scolds, playful concern in her voice. “You sure they’re feeding you enough up there?”

Luke gives her a patient smile and leans farther away from the command table.

“I’m quite alright, Lieutenant,” he assures, calm and even. “How is Grogu doing with the new exercises I instructed?”

“More like _what_ is he doing with them,” she sighs, “Little womp rat stole all the cookies right from under my nose. Scared the hell out of Kes, too.”

Luke raises an eyebrow and she laughs.

“I’m no Jedi. You need to cut me some slack.”

Din closes the cockpit door.

* * *

After he commits every single smile and movement of the Jedi to memory, Din finds himself cataloging more and more of his own feelings instead. Small observations that carve out a space in his mind unbidden.

He learns that seeing Luke’s yellow jacket now laying abandoned up in the cockpit makes him want to brush his fingers through the Jedi’s golden hair, and that even when Luke’s bare feet make no sound on the metal floors, Din is always aware of his position, never surprised when the Jedi appears behind him unannounced.

When he watches Luke make tea with rolled-up sleeves, he catalogs the way his own fingers itch to touch the scars dancing with the movement of his forearms and notes how he wishes he could put his palms to smooth skin. 

He observes how his helmet suddenly seems to feel heavier when the Jedi quietly pours two cups but only ever takes one, leaving the second warmed on the stove until Din picks it up with unsteady hands when retreating to his quarters.

More often than not he is left confused by the feeling of warmth that pools in his stomach whenever Luke catches him staring, how his heart skips a beat when the Jedi holds his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and resolve and something Din isn’t able to interpret at all.

On rare occasions, his hand accidentally brushes against Luke's shoulder, the fabric of his shirt warm under Din’s gloves, and it makes the contrast to his armor feel suffocatingly sharp.

* * *

Din blinks awake to a sense of peace and tranquility.

The blanket is warm and heavy above him, tangled around his legs and brushing softly against the subtle on his cheeks. He rolls over to glance at his armor laid out neatly on the desk, at his helmet just within reach. Then his gaze falls onto the door keeping him engulfed in privacy. Just a slab of metal separating him from--

He sighs deep and heavy and rolls back to stare at the ceiling.

 _Something_ shifted and he--

The ship is too quiet to go back to sleep.

After another minute of letting his vision blur against the grey of the ceiling, he swings his feet out of the bed and winces as the cold of the floor seeps through his socks. When he reaches for his helmet the metal is just as cold beneath his fingers. 

He stands to put on the rest of his armor, but something is pulling at him, an urge to _move_ as if he hadn’t stretched his legs in days. The ship is quiet and calm and it’s just one door, one slab of metal. Din turns and pushes the controls to open it.

The _swish_ of the door is drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Before him both the desk and cockpit are empty.

He hesitates then for a second, wondering what exactly he would have done if the door had opened to reveal Luke, looking at him without all his layers and barriers. He wonders if it would have mattered to the Jedi to see him like this. If the significance of not wearing his armor would have actually registered with him, considering every inch of his body is still covered, safe for his hands.

Part of him is screaming to turn back, but the other, stronger part, the one that tells him he is _safe_ , urges him to m _ove forward_. He pulls his sleeves all the way up over his fingertips in a feeble attempt at comfort and makes his way down the ramp.

There is noise coming from the front cargo hold and when he gets closer on quiet feet he sees Luke with his lightsaber drawn, surrounded by three spherical hovering droids. 

His eyes are covered by what appears to be some sort of blindfold and his high collared shirt is discarded on one of the crates, together with his belt and boots. All he’s left with is a black undershirt tucked neatly into the waistband of his pants and Din takes strange comfort in the fact that they’ve both forgone their armor.

The Jedi doesn’t seem to notice him as Din steps closer to lean against the doorway. He keeps up his movements undeterred, spinning the lightsaber around himself in graceful swings to deflect the little blaster bolts the droids keep throwing at him. 

Seeing his movements like this, without the distraction of imminent death and adrenaline coursing through his veins, makes Din wish he could see them with his own eyes. There is a layer here he’s missing, an angle of Luke he doesn’t get to see and it makes his helmet sit unnervingly heavy on his head.

He takes a few silent steps into the hold instead and lets himself sink down quietly on one of the crates that’s pushed against the wall. The Jedi still doesn’t give any indication that he’s aware of his presence and Din wonders - what if he took the helmet off now, just for a second, just as long as the Jedi isn’t even aware he’s here, as long as his eyes are unseeing?

Would Luke stop and take the blindfold off? Would he abuse that trust? Or would he keep going, undeterred, steady like the steam rising from an untouched cup of tea?

He reaches up slowly, fingers curling around the edge of his helmet. The movement feels strange without his gloves on, but just for a moment he wants to--

Din pulls the helmet off.

His vision blurs for a second, the green glow of the lightsaber all-encompassing, its hum ringing louder in his ears than anticipated. He can hear his heartbeat mix with it, fast and hard and for a second he forgets how to breathe. 

He ducks his head and tries to focus on the helmet in his lap. His reflection stares back at him, eyes wide and brows drawn, and his knuckles stand out white against the black of his visor.

Oddly enough it is not even the creed that rings the loudest in his head, but the memory of Grogu’s eyes and tiny hands on his face. It’s the feeling of holding his son, of truly seeing him, of the last time they were a clan of two. 

It’s looking up to find steady, impossibly blue eyes, to feel nothing but calm and sorrow and trust, when all he should have been feeling is the shame of taking his helmet off in front of a stranger--

" _Breathe_ ," Luke’s voice cuts through his thoughts, calm and reassuring. “ _Din, breathe_.”

Din’s head snaps up and air rushes back into his lungs.

Luke stopped his routine without Din noticing, but wisely stayed where he was, at the opposite end of the room. His lightsaber rests in his gloved hand, powered off. "I can't see you with this on,” he adds patiently, pointing up at the blindfold that’s still firm across his eyes. 

If Din was able to focus a little bit more he could have seen an echo of his own panic mirrored in the Jedi’s face, but as it is all his mind can latch onto is how Luke’s hair is sticking up around the blindfold in playful disarray. 

The longer he keeps still, the more he can start feeling his breath come back in even intervals. In front of him, Luke quietly re-ignites his lightsaber and gets back into position. And so Din watches, perfectly still, as the Jedi resumes his movements, droids swirling around him in ever-shifting patterns.

When they breathe in unison again, a warmth spreads in Din’s chest and a smile over Luke’s lips. He leans his head back against the wall and keeps watching, helmet all but forgotten in his lap.

* * *

"How does it work?" Din asks eventually, after he’s watched Luke spin around long enough to realize that he is not following a pre-programmed choreography, but truly reacting to the droids whims.

“I can sense them,” Luke answers easily, just as he spins on his heels below one of the droids and swings the lightsaber out to reflect the bolt of another. He is out of breath ever so slightly, a thin sheen of sweat sticking to his neck and shoulders. “I anticipate their movements through the Force, it’s like I can see them in my mind's eye.”

Din takes that in for a while. "So you _can_ see me?"

"Not physically, no,” Luke spins the saber in a complicated pattern above his head, “But I can sense where you are.” He moves through another set of steps, then twists on his toes and comes to a stop facing Din. 

With a flick of his wrist, Luke shuts down the practice droids and retracts his lightsaber.

Din straightens up and curls his finger around the edges of his helmet, ready to put it back on once Luke moves to pull off the blindfold. But to his surprise, Luke doesn’t even so much as twitch his fingers towards his face.

Instead, he puts the lightsaber down on the crate with his shirt and belt and slowly moves to sit on one of the crates besides Din. He crosses his legs beneath himself, hands resting gently in his lap and he lets his head sink against the wall in much the same way Din’s had just rested moments ago.

Din realizes this is part of the same sort of respect and nonchalance that makes the Jedi refrain from ever asking if he wants a cup of tea.

There is ample space between them, but somehow Din doesn’t dare to move. He keeps his feet firm on the ground, body hunched forwards with his elbows resting on his knees. His fingers trace intricate patterns into the beskar of his helmet in an attempt to calm himself. _Something shifted and_ \--

They stay like that, just breathing beside each other, spell miraculously not broken.

“The beskar usually dulls my perception of you," Luke says after a while. He takes a deep breath as if he too feels the need to center himself. “I don’t think I could feel you at all if I hadn’t--” the Jedi stops abruptly, but Din already knows what he was about to say.

“If you hadn’t seen my face.”

“Yes,” Luke says beside him, soft and quiet. 

Din turns his head then, slowly, and without the helmet, without the layers, he can suddenly see all of his emotions mirrored in Luke’s face. From the last remaining traces of panic all the way to the confusion of trust and the desire to--

“You can read my mind,” Din states, not unkind. He’s surprised how little that freaks him out.

“Not exactly. I can sense what you are feeling, but it’s not always accurate or nuanced, especially through the beskar,” Luke explains, hesitates for a second and then, “When we first met on the ship I could sense the fear of your companions, even the ones in armor, but you--” there is a long exhale and for a moment Din thinks he won’t continue, “You were an empty spot in the force, void like a blank space. Only when you lifted your helmet I-”

Luke stops himself again, and Din is surprised to see the Jedi curl in on himself, hands grabbing onto his own elbows as if to keep himself grounded in space.

“You were very bright,” Luke says, at last, his voice so soft it makes Din’s chest ache. 

“At that moment I could sense both you and Grogu, I could see what you both looked like through each other's eyes. I had never felt such a connection before. And so much love.”

Warmth spreads in Din’s stomach at Luke’s words, up through his chest, engulfing him whole, unbidden, and out of his control. He doesn’t know what to do with it. There is a flurry of emotions swirling inside him, too big for him to grasp and so he just sits still and lets them wash over him like the waves of a raging sea.

Din startles when the Jedi laughs.

“Even now, without your helmet on, I don’t understand what you're feeling at all,” Luke says and gets up to collect his training droids.

Din puts his helmet back on and wonders if that might just be because he doesn’t either.

* * *

They are halfway to the next base when the sound of crackling static snaps them out of a game of Sabacc. The plates spinning in the air behind Luke stop abruptly as they both turn towards the command room.

“Expecting a transmission?” Din asks, brow raised behind his helmet.

“Not that I know off.”

Luke’s expression is thoughtful and Din thinks he knows why. None of the transmissions they’ve received so far ever made _that_ sound. He puts the cards down while the Jedi absentmindedly maneuvers the plates back into their correct spot. They rise together and follow the noise to the control room in front of the cockpit. 

They both tilt their heads in surprise when they realize it’s coming from the old, mostly inactive communications array that sits idle against the wall. When Luke takes his regular calls, and Din dodges any incoming transmissions, they usually do so from the main command table in the middle of the room. To the best of Din’s knowledge, neither of them has ever touched the old panel.

He steps forward and looks for the button that will let them accept any incoming transmissions, but even when he finds and pushes it the noise stays an ugly crackling static. “Where did Solo say he got the ship from?”

“He didn’t,” Luke raises an eyebrow, “But I know whoever owned this ship before did not seem to have time to finish all of their planned repairs and modifications.”

“You think it’s broken.”

The Jedi shrugs and crouches down. “Or the signal is too weak.”

A laser-cutter hovers from the workbench on the opposite wall past Din’s helmet and into Luke’s hand. He ignites it and Din crouches down to take it out of his hand. “You’re not wearing protective gear.”

Luke blinks up at him for a second, then he clearly tries very hard not to laugh. “You mean the light of the small _laser blade_ will hurt my eyes?”

Din rolls his eyes behind his helmet and bumps his shoulder into Luke’s instead of answering. The Jedi laughs but rises again without any further protest. Din makes quick work of the rusty panel covering the terminals fuses and flicks on the light on his helmet to get a better look.

The whole thing is old and crusted but he thinks he might be able to oil the fuses enough to get it to transmit smoothly. Luke seems to have the same thought because a second later a small oil container hovers into view beside him. When Din looks up with a sigh the Jedi pretends to be studying the controls of the terminal very intently.

He huffs out a small laugh as he bends down again to apply the oil. At least he won’t have to explain electric wiring and opposite charges to Luke. 

“Anything?” he asks after there is nothing left to smear oil over. 

“Hold on,” he hears Luke pressing a sequence of buttons above him, then gives a thoughtful hum, “The signal is stable, I think the static might be a local problem. Can you check if one of the auxiliary cables is loose?”

Din does, finds the wayward cable and plugs it back in its right place. The static gives one last gurgle, then transforms into a clear and urgent voice.

Clear and urgent and _familiar_.

“A distress signal?” Luke frowns but Din barely registers it, not even the part where Luke apparently understands Mando’a. It’s all swallowed by a sudden flood of fear and guilt. He shoots up from the floor, breath stuck in his throat.

Din’s hands grip onto the edge of the terminal as he listens to the voice of the Armorer repeat a short but dire message over and over and over again -

_They found us. We can’t hold out. Save the Foundlings._

The image of a pile of shattered armor flashes in his mind and he frantically checks the date the message was sent, only to feel a completely new sense of panic when the monitor indicates it’s being transmitted right now.

“ _Din_ ,” Luke says besides him with an edge to his voice and Din isn’t sure how long he’s been trying to catch his attention.

“It’s my Covert,” he manages to press out. “They are pinned down I--”

He stops himself to take a steadying breath. He can’t lose his head now, can’t indulge in the dread and panic that threaten to make his body freeze up.

“This is not part of the contract,” he says finally, cold and clipped, “But if you’ll let me, I’ll drop you off at the nearest port and I--”

“That will take too long,” Luke interrupts, face stern. “They need help _now_.”

“I can’t ask you to do this.”

For a long agonizing second Luke looks stricken, as if no one has ever considered if he wanted to be the hero or not. Then he reaches out and slowly puts a hand on Din’s arm. 

“Then don’t,” he says with a squeeze of his hand, “And just let me do it.”

Din hesitates, his mind having a hard time grasping how the Jedi could just risk his life without any incentive. Luke looks up at him, shoulders squared, his face open and earnest.

A third sensation wells up in his chest, nestled in between his guilt and fear, a small voice that whispers at him to protect _this_.

“Din,” Luke says and it sounds nearly pleading, “I can feel your pain. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

_Something shifted._

Din nods, once, twice, and Luke lets go of his hand to rush to the cockpit.

* * *

Through some sheer dumb luck, they are barely an hour out from the coordinates that came with the distress signal. Din’s foot taps a nervous rhythm against the cockpit floor for every second of it. When they finally lower through atmo he has checked his armor and weapons three times, the beskar spear and jetpack resting at the door ready to go. 

“The scanners barely detect any life forms,” Luke frowns while circling through any data the ship can pick up from the coordinates below them. “I know you said there weren't many left but-”

“Keep looking,” Din starts the landing sequence, “I’ll take us down.”

They scouted the planet on the way and got familiar with the terrain - a mix of woodlands, rock, and cave formations, ideal for hiding away from prying eyes - but there is only so much they can extrapolate without actually seeing the situation with their own eyes.

Beside him Luke has gone very still, eyes closed and scanners abandoned. “There are five of them shrouded in armor, two of them injured,” he says with a slow exhale. “Six Imperials, a battalion of droids and _oh_ , further in the cave there are eight chil--”

The Jedi’s eyes snap up with a sharp inhale.

“Pull up!”

Din accelerates the ship back up into the air with a sharp turn. A second later the ship’s alarms blare through the cockpit as the fire of a TIE Fighter narrowly misses their wing. 

“ _Dank Farrik_ ,” Din swears and tips the ship to the side to dodge another blast. The Kom'rk might be faster and more agile than the Razor Crest but it’s still bigger and less familiar, and there are three of them. This is a fight they don’t have time for.

“Transfer controls to me,” Luke commands calmly but without any room for discussion.

Din does. The second Luke’s hands touch the flight stick the ship lurches forwards and then rolls over its right side in one impossibly smooth movement. 

Din’s fingers dig into his armrests involuntarily. 

“I was a pilot first,” Luke smirks, then flips the ship around and shoots one of the TIE’s clear out of the sky. Din’s throat suddenly feels very dry.

“Your friends are pinned down in the canyon below us,” Luke says and to Din’s surprise, he launches into a sequence of evasive maneuvers instead of going straight after the next TIE. “I’ll bring the ship low, get ready to drop out. I’ll take care of the TIE’s.”

Oh.

“Are you sure?” Din asks but he’s already up to snap the jetpack to his back and secure the spear. 

“Yes. Go.” Luke snaps as he lowers the ship to pass the canyon. “I’ll catch up with you.”

“Keep the fire away from the canyon,” Din urges with a last look back. Their eyes meet with a curt nod. _Stay safe_ , he doesn’t say.

“Ramp is lowering now.”

Din sprints down and launches himself into the air as the ship accelerates back into the atmosphere, TIE Fighters hot on its heels.

* * *

Lowering over the canyon he finally gets a clear look at the situation. Imperial troops have set up a temporary barricade at the bottom of the canyon, blast shields providing cover for half a battalion of battle droids. Din clenches his jaw. It’s the annoying kind, the ones that are kriffing resistant to regular blaster fire.

He spots Paz first, the broad shoulders of his armor sticking out against the cover of a tree like a beacon. There are two more Mandalorians crouched across from him to his left, against one of the canyon's stone formations. One of them he recognizes as the Armorer. 

Paz is doing his best to keep the droids at bay with his blaster cannon but they are still advancing fast, one of them breaking formation to level a shot at the two Mandalorians on the left. 

Din grabs the spear from his back and launches it at the droid mid-flight. 

The strength of the beskar coupled with the momentum of the jetpack pierces the spear square through the droids middle, pinning it to the canyon floor. Din drops down on top of it, jetpack engines stirring up dirt all around him, rips the spear out of its wires, and then whips around to put the sharp end through the neck of another droid.

“ _Dank!_ ” Paz bellows behind him, followed by an only marginally more quiet, “Mar'e!”

Din twists on his heels, rams the spear into the ground, and then uses it to swing himself up to ram his boots into the last advancing droid. It goes flying far enough for him to duck behind the trees as Paz covers him with a salvo of his cannon. 

“Never in a million years, I thought I’d be glad to see you, vod!” Paz laughs as Din crouches down beside him. “We send the signal out to any Mando’ad ship in range but we didn’t think--”

They both stop to look up as a second TIE Fighter explodes high up in the sky. 

“Hell of a pilot you got up in there.”

Din is inclined to agree.

“Where are the Foundlings?”

“In a cave to the north, behind the barricade,” Paz growls shooting off another round of his gun. “The fuckers took them before we could get them safe.”

They need to advance past the barricade, but there are still at least twenty droids left and there is no way he can get to all of them with just his spear. But the Foundlings-- _kriff_

“Cover me!” he barks at Paz, who gives a displeased grunt but does, and Din launches himself spear first straight into a droid with a push from his jetpack. The metal of the machine makes an ugly cracking sound pressed between his beskar and the hard canyon floor and Din twists the spear in its chest for good measure. 

He manages to roll off it just in time before the blaster fire of another droid hits him in the back, pulls the spear with him, and keeps fighting. Above him, the third TIE explodes into a thousand different pieces. 

Din takes out two more droids in quick succession before one finally gets him in the chest with a heavy round. He skids across the dirt, spear knocked out of his hands, and barely has time to cross his arms in front of him in defense before the droid fires off another round.

The impact of the blast never comes. 

He looks up in confusion to see the droid levitating in front of him.

A second later Luke drops down from atop the canyon to land beside him and the droid is catapulted back into one of its companions. 

The ground seems to vibrate with the impact of the Jedi’s boots. Even without his cloak, the back of his clothing looks menacing against the dirt and trees. Luke reaches his hand out towards him and Din is surprised by the ease with which he pulls him up.

" _Jetii_ ," Paz suddenly screams behind him and kriff, he had forgotten about _that_. 

Din moves just fast enough to cover Luke with his body before Paz shoots his blaster off at him. The bolt bounces off his helmet.

" _He’s with me!_ " Din shouts, maybe a bit angrier than necessary and Paz throws his hands up in the air in mock surrender. 

“My bad!”

Luke has the nerve to huff out a laugh.

In front of them, the droids steer and Din turns around just in time to catch the beskar spear that's whizzing through the air towards him. Beside him, Luke ignites his lightsaber in his right hand, while Din spins the spear around in his left. 

"I'll cover you," Luke promises and they charge.

* * *

Din is out of breath by the time he gets rid of the last droid. 

Luke had deflected most of the blaster bolts with his saber while setting the droids up for Din to spear, either by freezing them mid-movement or simply by just straight up launching them at him. Together they made quick work of them.

He looks over to the Jedi to see that there is barely a hair out of place on his head, his breathing even as he stands calm amidst the wreckage at his feet.

“There are double as many of these kriffing droids in the cave,” Paz growls as he steps up beside them. Behind him, the Armorer and a Mandalorian in red carry two more injured Mandalorians forward.

Din hurries back to meet them, “Our ship is up on the cliff, there are enough medical supplies,” he says and pointedly ignores the fact that he used _our,_ instead of _my_. “Do you think you can make it?”

“We’ll be fine,” one of them groans, but the blood seeping out from under their armor says otherwise. The Armorer nods towards the red Mandalorian. 

“Bring them up, we’ll take care of the rest,” she says and when the red Mandalorian hesitates adds, “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” the other woman echoes and flies off with the first of the wounded.

The Armorer stands and levels him with a cold stare.

“Now let's get those bastards.”

* * *

The Armorer leads them through a set of rocky pathways to a small ridge overlooking the hull of the cave. The Imperial troops are holding the foundlings towards the very back of it, eight children huddled together, kept in check by stormtroopers and a ridiculous amount of droids.

Laying flat on their stomachs to keep from being detected, they debate their strategy in hushed tones for what Din thinks is an unnecessary amount of time. All they really come up with is an agreement not to fire any blasters, so they don’t risk hurting any of the children with wayward bolts. That only leaves the issue of what to do with _thirty_ kriffin’ droids.

“I’ll draw their fire,” Luke says suddenly, voice carrying calmly over their hushed discussion. It’s the first time he’s spoken since he came to Din’s rescue. Three beskar helmets snap towards the Jedi in unison.

“Are you out of your mind?” Paz hisses, “There are like fifty of these things.”

“Thirty,” Luke retorts evenly and doesn’t seem phased at all. He looks at Din as if to ask for permission and when Din turns his head to get the Armorer’s opinion instead, he finds her staring at him too.

_Dank Farrik._

“Fine,” he sighs resigned, “Draw their fire, but be careful not to reflect any bolts our way.”

Luke nods and slowly rises into a crouch. Paz moves with him. “I’m going with him,” he grumbles, “I don’t trust the Jetii.”

Din is left alone with the Armorer as he watches Paz and Luke descent to the front of the cave and a tight feeling settles in his chest. It’s the same feeling he felt on the ship, when Luke told him he wouldn’t let him go alone. The one that told him to protect _this_. 

Whatever the hell _this_ is.

He looks towards the Armorer in a feeble attempt for guidance.

“Lead the way, _Mand’alor_ ,” she says, and Din nearly chokes on his own breath.

* * *

Theoretically, their plan works.

The droids are distracted by Luke and Paz assault, their programming making them flock to the entrance of the cave in droves. There are only about four droids left beside the six stormtroopers crowding around the Foundlings. 

Practically tough - after he dispatches the Imps with whistling birds and throws the spear at one of the droids before it can fire a shot at the children - Din finds himself on his knees, covering two of the Foundlings with his body as the last droid raises its blaster at them.

He can’t shoot the damn thing in fear the blaster bolt might bounce off it and hit one of the Foundlings, but his spear is currently pinning another droid to the cave’s walls. The vibroblade won’t even scratch the damn thing, so that leaves only--

Din reaches for the darksaber, fingers curling around the hilt, and the strange pull and vibration of it makes him hesitate for just a moment, memories of his own fear mixing with the pain and despair of his ancestors and--

The droid shoots.

He feels the bolt bounce off his breastplate, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the scream of the Foundling behind him.

Above him the droid is cut in half by a flash of green and Din stares up at Luke’s face, engine grease splattered over his cheekbones like the lifeless blood of his victims.

Din is left cowering over the Foundling, unignited darksaber in hand, _useless_.

Luke is by his side in an instant. He presses a steadying hand against Din’s shoulder, before he crouches to his knees beside the injured child.

“It’s alright little one,” the Jedi says as he carefully reaches out towards the child so as not to startle her. Luke’s voice is so soft that it makes Din’s chest ache even more.

The blaster bolt that ricocheted off his breastplate grazed her leg and as far as Din can see it’s not the deepest of wounds, but he’d have preferred it _to not be any wound at all_. She is a brave one, too young to wear a helmet yet, and although tears are streaming down her cheeks her face is squared in defiance, as if she doesn’t want to let the pain win.

Two of the other Foundlings rush to her side and wrap their arms around her shoulders protectively, one of them glaring suspiciously at Luke. From the corner of his eyes, Din sees the Armorer keep a watchful eye on them as she and Paz tend to the remaining children.

“Do you wanna see something strange?” Luke asks with a soft grin and raises his gloved hand to let a small handful of rocks float in intricate patterns in front of the girl's face.

“ _Whoaaa_ ,” all three of them seem instantly mesmerized by the magical display in front of them and no one pays attention as Luke quietly heals the girl's injured leg with his free hand.

Din watches the scene in front of him with clenched teeth and for the first time since the night on Gideon’s ship, he feels like he wants to cry.

* * *

Later, when the Foundlings are running off their energy around the ship and Paz is checking their sparse belongings, the Armorer finds Din under the shade of a nearby tree. They stand beside each other in silence for a while, taking in the hard-earned peace in front of them.

"You didn't use it in battle," she says finally and Din doesn’t need to ask to know she means the darksaber. Dread settles in his stomach like lead.

"It's not mine," he says. It's a feeble excuse.

"Have you not won it in battle?"

"I have." 

"Then by creed, it is yours."

Din clenches his jaw, wishing for the relief of warm sand under his feet and the heat of twin setting suns.

"I…," he starts and has to try again, voice breaking. "I removed my helmet." 

The Armorer stays quiet, waiting for him to continue. It's a special kind of torture. 

"When I reunited the kid with his kind, I… I--” and he tries so hard to keep his voice from breaking, but all the memories come rushing back in, all those nights where his helmet felt so heavy he couldn’t breathe until he found Cara and bought her a drink.

”I had to make him see my face."

She doesn’t answer him, silence stretching until the words tumble out of his mouth. "I broke the creed. It's not mine," he says and realizes he means the darksaber as much as everything else in his life. 

"The Foundling was in your care," she says after a while, calm but sure, "You have not broken the creed." 

"Luke saw it too," Din says too quickly, and his mind stumbles on the fact that he said _Luke_ , instead of _Skywalker_ or _The Jedi._

 _I want him to see it again_ , he doesn't say. 

She seems to consider that for a long time. He follows her gaze as it falls on Luke, who is being climbed all over by the Foundlings. He’s laughing with them as he levitates a set of misshapen rocks around them. 

"And is he not a father to your Foundling as you are?" she asks finally, just as Luke looks up towards him with a smile so bright it makes him dizzy. 

Din feels his throat tighten, and his heart stutters in his chest. 

"Yes," he grinds out and the word feels like sandpaper against his throat. 

"Then you have not broken the creed," the Armorer says with a finality he can't refute. "And the darksaber is yours." She turns to him and levels him with an even stare. “It is your responsibility now to lead your people.”

Deep down Din thinks he knows she’s right. Deep down he thinks he’s known for a while. But here and now, with his feet firm on the ground, and his eyes fixed on cataloging another angle of Luke’s smile, he isn’t so sure. Not when the only other thing he can think of is how he wants nothing more than to watch Grogu play amongst the laughing children. So here and now with that _damn_ feeling in his chest he--

“My contract with the Jedi is not yet finished.”

The Armorer sighs deeply as if she had been expecting that answer. Her head turns towards Luke and the children once more, assessing the situation. 

“The contract must be finished then,” she decides with another sigh and turns back to him. She bows her head in a gesture that makes Din feel very small. "This is the Way." 

"This is the Way," Din echoes and he's not sure if he feels better or worse. 

All he knows is that his helmet feels impossibly heavy on his head and his armor suffocatingly sharp against the thought of Luke’s smile.

* * *

Even after the Armorer leaves him to his own devices Din stays at his spot under the tree for a long time. He keeps watch as she goes to scold Paz for mishandling one of her crates, and stays put when the red Mandalorian pops back out of the ship to herd the Foundlings off Luke.

Only when he sees Luke quietly slip back onto the ship he’s spurred into motion. Paz stops him atop of the ramp, out of earshot. He looks uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment.

“You know,” he says, voice deceptively nonchalant, “It was one of my clan who created the darksaber.”

A sudden surge of survival instinct makes the hair stand up on Din’s neck. He places his hand on his hip just above the darksaber’s hilt, posture just as nonchalant as Paz’s voice. 

“Wanna fight me for it?”

He really isn’t sure if he prefers a yes or a no. To his surprise, Paz lets out a bellowing laugh. 

“No, not as long as you have your little Jetti protecting you!”

“He isn’t--,” Din starts, but Paz cuts him off with a violent clap on his back.

“ _Ha!_ ” he laughs as if he wouldn’t believe Din, no matter what defense he might bring forward. “You should have seen him when you went down, little guy got feral. That look in his eyes was a sight to behold!” Another clap on his back makes Din stumble slightly. “He just crushed four of those droids to powder with a flick of his wrist, just so he could rush to your side.”

And Din ... doesn’t know what to do with that information. He knows Luke is powerful, never doubted that, but Paz makes it sound like Luke’s actions had something to do with _him_ , which just does not make any sense at all.

“For a mortal enemy he is not so bad,” Paz continues as if he’s trying to convince Din of Luke’s outstanding character. “When he first dropped out of the sky I was ready to put a hole through his head, you know, never really knew them as anything but bastards, but well…” Paz makes a wide sweeping motion with his hand that Din doesn’t even try to interpret, “... this one’s alright.”

“ _Alright_?”

“Yea, _alright_ ,” Paz laughs. “He can stay.”

Din feels another hard slap against his back that seems like it is meant to be reassuring and wishes Paz had chosen to fight him instead.

“I’m dropping you off on Concordia,” he sighs, desperate to change the topic. “The old mines have been taken over by Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. She won't be happy to see you, but she will trust you and she's in desperate need of more fighters and someone with your expertise. She won't turn you down."

“You’re not staying with us, are you?”

Din’s head snaps towards the cockpit, towards Luke, as if on instinct, dragged by an invisible force. He doesn’t respond and Paz just nods.

“Ret'urcye mhi, Mand’alor,” he says and leaves Din behind.

* * *

Din finds Luke hunched over the command table. There is something about his posture, about the way his brow’s crease and his hands are deceptively steady, that makes Din suddenly and inexplicably feel scared.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling for someone to pick me up,” Luke smiles, distant and calm.

“You’re not coming with us?” Din asks needlessly. His throat feels tight, his helmet heavy on his head. "The contract isn't finished."

"I know. But you've done enough,” Luke smiles, with a hint of the same ruefulness he carried at the cantina, “These are your people. I understand." 

_No, you don’t_ , Din wants to say, but his mouth is dry and he isn’t so sure he truly understands either. But he wants-- _He needs--_

"You can keep the ship. You've more than earned it," Luke misinterprets his silence as frustration. And Din is frustrated, but not because of that, not like that. “And I will see to it that you’ll receive ample compensation for the time spent in my service.”

Luke smiles at him, distant and calm and _off_.

Din takes a step towards the terminal and reaches his hand out just to drop it again.

“No, but I--”

_I want to stay. Let me stay._

In front of him, Luke’s smile falters, just slightly, just a little bit, as if he heard him. As if he doesn’t want to let go either. Din takes another step forward, then another, until the tips of their boots touch. 

“Until the contract is finished, you are in my care,” he says, voice rough, “ _This is the Way._ ”

Luke looks up at him, smile wiped from his face, and he’s still, so very very still. There is a sudden tension between them, air electric like static, and the feeling in Din’s chest is screaming at him to--

Luke nods once. Then his jaw sets, a look of determination crossing his face, and he nods again.

For the first time since Kashyyyk Din vaguely feels that whatever shifted between them finally snapped into place.

* * *

An hour later, when Din carries the last of the Covert’s supply crates onto the ship, he passes the gleaming signet of a Mudhorn newly welded to the ship’s outer hull. It takes all his concentration and composure to gently place the crate down on the floor, instead of dropping it on his own feet.

He allows himself to take off one of his gloves so he can trace the beskar with bare skin. He might not feel like he deserves this - the ship, the signet, the darksaber, the respect of his creed, or the freedom to finish his contract - but he will do everything in his power to honor it.

 _The Mudhorn_ , he thinks reverently as he presses his palm over the signet.

It suits her.

* * *

Din interprets the fact that the Mudhorn isn’t immediately blown out of the sky when they enter Concordia's atmo as a sign that Bo-Katan is willing to hear them out before she attempts to murder him. 

They set the ship down beside two of the very same make and model and he can’t help but notice how gleaming and tall they stand in comparison to the Mudhorns chipped paint. Unease settles in his stomach and he is once again acutely aware of how he has done nothing to earn his ship or reluctant title. 

Bo-Katan meets him at the bottom of the ramp as he walks out to negotiate the terms of his Covert’s survival. 

“Did not think I’d see you come to me,” she greets with a raised eyebrow, helmet tucked firmly under her arm. Koska and Axe are standing tall behind her, a small group of Mandalorians moving to gather around them.

Din can feel the eyes of his people on his back from where they are huddled at the top of the ramp. He is not in the mood for playing games.

“They have nowhere to go. Will you take them in?”

“What makes you think I’ll accept your cult in my midst?” she drawls with a thinly veiled layer of hostility. Din feels a rush of protectiveness swell in his chest. He draws in a breath and stands taller. 

“Because Mandalorians are stronger together,” he echoes her own words back at her.

She scoffs but then her gaze falls on the Foundlings who are sticking their heads out behind Paz’s legs and her expression morphs into something softer. After a few more agonizing seconds she nods her head to Koska and Axe, who move to help unload the Covert’s belongings.

“Have you finally decided to join us then?” she quips with a pointed look at the darksaber.

“No,” Din throws back, feeling some sort of twisted satisfaction. “Have you finally decided to fight me for it?”

She scoffs again and opens her mouth to say something else, but before any words can leave her lips her whole face shifts from benevolent hostility to boiling anger. Din follows her gaze to see Luke appear at the top of the ramp, following the last of the Covert leaving the ship.

For a second he thinks he can see Bo-Katan’s anger reflected just as hot in the Jedi’s eyes, but then his face snaps back to an impassive mask, stoic and unmoving.

"You're traveling with _him_ ?" Bo-Katan hisses at Din, "You're _aiding_ him? Instead of being here with your people, instead of _taking your rightful place_?" 

Din very vividly remembers the bitterness in Bo-Katan’s voice when she told him about the Jedi, but her outward hostility still hits him like a brick. He’s keenly aware that her outburst of anger has little to do with Luke himself, and everything to do with Din’s refusal to play by her rules.

Before he can even begin to formulate a sentence, she pushes past him towards Luke.

"I know what you are," she sneers. "You will _never_ be free of your father’s sins." 

_What the--?_

"I know," Luke says with icy calm and Din feels his pulse jump into his throat.

"What keeps me from just killing you where you stand?” she snaps, now barely a meter from Luke who has slowly moved down the ramp. The Jedi’s hands are idly folded in front of him, but Din has seen how fast he can draw his lightsaber when he needs to.

“Your kind is _dangerous_. The galaxy doesn’t need you." 

_Dank Farrik_. Din takes a step towards them and--

Bo-Katan swings her fist at Luke’s face.

_Dank kriffing Farrik._

The Jedi sidesteps her punch with ease. Unsurprisingly, that seems to make her even angrier. 

Her vibroblade is in her hand before Din can even blink. Luke leans back in the nick of time as she swipes it square across his chest, and the blade rips fabric but narrowly misses skin.

The next swipe of her knife scratches off Din’s breastplate, as he steps between her and Luke. 

" _Enough_ ," he says, his voice calm but seething. Bo-Katan just scoffs at him. 

"Step aside,” she snaps, “I don't care if you think you're in his debt, _his kind is a cancer to this galaxy!_ " 

Luke’s kind. _Grogu’s kind_.

She realizes her mistake instantly and her eyes go wide.

The darksaber is in Din’s hand before he even consciously reaches for it.

"You want to fight?" he growls, low like gravel. 

The darksaber ignites and she takes an instinctive step back. 

" _Then fight._ "

The blade crackles with electricity and where it felt strange and foreign in his hand the last time he ignited it, it now feels like an extension of his arm, strong and angry and ready to draw blood.

He can feel the same emotions of their ancestors rush through him, _the pain and loss, desperation, anger, and fear_ , and they fuel him, burning hot like flames.

Oh, how Din wishes she would finally fight him for it. But she doesn't. Instead, she takes another step back, her chin raised high and a triumphant glint to her eyes.

A hush falls over the crowd around them, and Din realizes his own mistake. 

Until now, until he ignited it in front of their de facto leader, barely anyone knew Din was in possession of the darksaber. His claim to the throne had been kept quiet and hushed by Bo-Katan, be it out of simple disdain or calculated strategy. 

Now he stands in front of them, blade crackling and anger radiating off him in waves, out of control and unhinged, all because he stepped in to defend one of their mortal enemies.

His eyes meet the gold glint of the Armorer’s helmet in the crowd and ice spreads through his veins. He tries to get his fingers to switch off the blade but it’s like all his muscles tense up at once, like the blade wants him to _fight_. He takes one step, another, and _another and_ \--

He feels a calm rush over him, warm sand under his feet, the warmth of twin suns and-

" _Din_ ," Luke's voice is soft but urgent behind him. There is an edge to it and Din knows the Jedi can feel his pain.

The darksaber switches off and he’s not sure if it did so by Din’s will or its own design.

Without looking back he turns on his heels and scrambles his way back to the ship. 

Luke is behind him in an instant, a steadying hand pressed between his shoulder blades. He hears the ramp go up behind them but he barely registers it, breath coming too fast behind his helmet. It’s only Luke's steady grip around his shoulders guiding him upstairs that keeps him from stumbling. He can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe, he can’t--_

"Stay," Luke commands calm but urgent, as they reach the upper deck, "I'll get us out of here."

Din falls to his knees. When he hears the door of the cockpit close behind Luke, he rips off his helmet to desperately gasp for air as the ship accelerates into the atmosphere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Luke: I could easily kill you_   
>  _Din: well mark me down as scared and horny_
> 
> Shit Paz says - Mar'e ("At last!"; an expression of relief), Vod (brother, sister, comrade), Mando'ad (Mandalorian), Ret'urcye mhi (Goodbye; literally: "Maybe we'll meet again")
> 
> Also I’m aware that Din’s himbo ass would probably not hesitate to use the darksaber in combat but it’s about the _angst_ okay??
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who’s left comments and kudos on chapter one, and to all the lovely people on the discord server who hyped me up, this is the first time in 10 years I actually genuinely enjoy writing with every fiber of my being and I can’t wait to do it more!
> 
> This was a lot of angst all at once, so treat urself to these 3 dumb memes I made for my own fic, bc I’m that type of loser - [you can look at the memes by clicking here](https://furiosophie.tumblr.com/post/642293727186059264/luke-i-could-very-easily-kill-you-din-well-mark)!
> 
> Next up - Luke gets shitfaced (responsibly) and Din admits some painful truths (belatedly)


	3. The Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After he's done cataloging all his own emotions about the Jedi, Din starts cataloging their rations and supplies instead, so his mind won't make him do something unbidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: _They both get drunk in the scene that starts with “Two hours later …”, it’s meant to break tension but it’s not necessarily plot relevant, so you can skip it if that’s not your thing_
> 
> Again thank you to [capdjarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capdjarin/pseuds/capdjarin) for beta reading this, I’m beyond greatful!

The first challenger finds them when they stop to fuel the Mudhorn. It’s not even five hours after they leave Concordia and Din realizes with great annoyance they must have followed them here. He disarms his opponent with a well-timed spin of his spear, while Luke bribes the landingpad’s mechanic not to call the authorities.

The second one nearly shoots them out of the sky when they try to leave the planet twenty minutes later. Luke emergency lands them in the middle of nowhere so Din can storm down the ramp and punch the idiot square in the helmet.

The third one arrives while they check the hull of the ship for damages, still in the middle of kriffin’ nowhere. Din throws a pleading look at Luke who just shrugs at him. 

“I feel like I made this worse enough already,” he points out with a genuine look of bewilderment on his face. Din groans and turns around to fight. 

While he bested the first two challengers with relative ease, the third one comes a little too close for his liking. It might have something to do with his general reluctance to fight, or the fact that this is his third encounter in a row, but he doesn’t care for it either way.

He is not losing a weapon of mass destruction to a guy who thought ‘ _You will tremble with the wrath of my firsts’_ was an acceptable opening line for a fight.

Still, Din is left scrambling in the dirt, spear somewhere knocked off to the side, blaster jamming from the cold. He draws the darksaber just as his opponent readies his final blow and it shocks the man long enough for Din to tackle him to the ground and knock him out.

Din’s stomach is turning from the vibration of the blade, vision blurring, and it takes all his concentration to shut the damn thing off before it tempts him to cut his opponent’s throat.

"Show me how to _kriffin’_ use it," he barks at Luke, out of breath and boots full of mud.

The Jedi rubs his gloved hand over his face and nods with a sigh.

* * *

After triple checking the ship for any trackers they might have missed, Luke sets them on a convoluted and absolute senseless hyperspace route. Whoever else decides to come after the darksaber will hopefully have a hard time finding them.

“So how does it work exactly,” Luke asks, leaning back in the co-pilot's seat. “Are they just going to keep coming?”

“I have an inkling you know just as much as I do,” Din sighs and resists the urge to put his head into his hands. His stomach still feels uneasy, bile rising in his throat.

“Whoever wields the darksaber may lay claim to the Mandalorian throne,” Luke says as if reciting something he read. “And as we learned it seems this is only the case if the darksaber is won in combat.”

“Yes.”

“Which you did.”

“Yes.”

“So that makes you the rightful Mand’alor.”

“... yes.”

“Alright,” Luke seems to ponder this for a moment. Din steels himself for all the inevitable questions he has no answers to. Like why he didn’t just let one of the challengers win. Or why he refuses to step up to the responsibility of the throne. Or why Bo-Katan was so adamant on projecting her anger onto Luke.

But Luke just shrugs, as if dealing with royalty of planets destroyed by the empire is something he’s done before. 

“Let’s train you then.”

* * *

“The darksaber is operated by a kyber crystal, the same stone that gives my lightsaber its power,” Luke explains once they are settled down in the hold. The Jedi sits cross-legged on the floor in front of him, while Din has his elbows resting on his knees.

Luke takes out his own saber and holds it up. “They are not sentient per se, but they do choose their wielder.” Din watches in fascination as the hilt of Luke’s saber starts to dismantle itself until the parts hover in the space between them. At their core, there is a glowing green crystal.

Luke’s words might not have made sense a second ago, but now, looking at it, Din can’t deny that the crystal has something otherworldly. Some connection that goes beyond lifeless matter.

“I chose this crystal as much as it chose me. I will be its first and only wielder. When I die, it will be buried with me,” Luke elaborates matter of factly. “But the darksaber has been passed down for generations. And not even just within family or clan, but over a wide variety of wielders. I can’t help but think that it must have developed something of its own memory. A very distant form of consciousness, if you will.”

In front of him, the lightsaber puts itself back together again.

“The darksaber might not be able to choose its own master, but it could be able to choose how it reacts to whoever wields it.”

“You think it’s making me feel the pain and despair of my ancestors on purpose?” Din asks, skeptical. No matter how much he is inclined to believe whatever the Jedi tells him, at the end of the day it’s still just a sword.

“I think it knows that you don’t want to wield it,” Luke counters. “A blade that holds this much power must be wielded with intent and purpose. It knows you don't want it, so it reacts accordingly." 

Din ponders that for a long moment.

"On the ship, with Gideon… it didn't do _that_." 

"And what was different there?"

Din sighs. “I was protecting Grogu." 

"Ah, see," Luke says with a soft smile, "There you have it then. Intent." 

"But when I was trying to protect the Foundlings I--" Din’s voice breaks. He has the strong urge to look away, even though Luke can’t see him behind the helmet.

"You were scared."

Din tilts his head confused. Luke is not wrong, but...

"When you went down, in front of the Foundlings, I could feel your pain,” Luke says, his voice softer.“ Not just physical. I could feel the panic when you looked up at the droid. It was similar to what I felt when we spared, just... much more pronounced." 

“What did you see?”

Luke seems hesitant, like he did the night Din found him training in the hold. For the first time, he wonders what it must be like for the Jedi to be able to pick up Din’s emotions like that. If it is an invasion of his privacy, his own mind, just as much as it is Din’s.

“I felt the pain of your ancestors, the despair. Then deeper down, I felt your own fear.” Luke looks away. His fingers absentmindedly move to the wrist of his gloved hand, a gesture Din is learning means he’s anxious. “I smelled smoke, and fire. And heard the explosions and clang of metal. I saw the droid.”

“My parents,” Din says and doesn’t hide the way the memory makes his voice sound rough. “My home planet was attacked. They managed to hide me away, but they paid with their life. The Mandalorians saved me.”

In front of him, Luke closes his eyes and takes in a shaky breath. Din can see his pain mirrored in the Jedi’s face. He feels a stab of guilt at dragging Luke through his own emotions like that. But he also knows that in a moment Luke’s expression will probably just shift back into a smile, distant and calm. 

To his surprise, that moment never comes.

“I know what that feels like,” Luke says instead, voice quiet. “I didn’t know my parents growing up. My mother died very young. My Aunt and Uncle took care of me. They were killed by the Empire.” 

_Oh._

A small smile spreads on Luke’s lips despite the pain in his voice, “In a way, you could say the Jedi saved me too, just as the Mandalorians did you.”

He looks up at Din and his eyes are incredibly soft and terribly blue. Din reaches out his hand on instinct. He lets it drop again when he sees that Luke’s hand is still firmly clasped around his own wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead and hopes Luke can tell it’s sincere. 

“Me too,” Luke says with a soft laugh. Silence stretches between them as they both take time to draw a breath. The air around them feels warm, despite the ice-cold of hyperspace around them.

“I can’t give you purpose or intent, that is something that lies only within yourself,” Luke says at last. “But I can teach you how to steel yourself against the darksaber’s influence.”

“How?”

“What the darksaber is projecting onto you is not real, but it _is_ amplifying your own emotions,” Luke explains. “You need to find a point between being paralyzed by fear and overwhelmed by anger. You need an anchor.”

“What do you suggest?”

“It can be anything really. Like a memory, or place, your favorite food, a weapon - whatever makes you feel grounded in reality. Whatever makes you feel like yourself.”

Din thinks about that for a moment. About the last time he truly felt grounded.

And he thinks of nights on the Razor Crest and Grogu sleeping peacefully on his lap. He takes the little silver ball out of the pocket at his hip. The weight is familiar in his palm, grounding.

“Oh,” Luke laughs as if he knows exactly what Din is holding. His eyes are soft. “Of course.”

“Yea,” Din says and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips. “Of course.”

“Let’s start there then,” Luke suggests and Din moves to cross his legs, mirroring the Jedi.

Later at night, when he is staring at the ceiling of the captain’s quarters, he tries to think of holding Grogu close to him on the Razor Crest. After a while, their surroundings slowly drift away, until instead of cold metal they are left with warm sand under their feet and the heat of twin setting suns.

* * *

Din steps out of his quarters to find Luke deep in thought at the command table.

On the way over he picks up the Jedi’s abandoned cup of tea. Luke accepts it with a small smile when Din steps up beside him. He looks tired and Din knows whatever little sleep he caught, it wasn’t in his bed.

“The decrypted files from Kashyyyk came back,” Luke says after a sip. “Your hunch to pull old data was good. The files connect data points we found in Gideon’s research with archival footage we have of Kamino.”

“Kamino?”

“During the Clone Wars, Kamino was the birthplace of the Republic's clone army. When the Empire rose to power they co-opted those forces for their own use.” 

“You think they’re trying to build an army?”

“I’m not sure,” Luke sighs and for once even Din can feel his frustration. “Something isn’t right.”

“The bodies we found at the third base, you said they might have been looking for a donor.”

“Yes, but as you pointed out, why kill them? Whatever they’re doing they are clearly still experimenting. Why would you kill off the source material of your experiment?” 

“To keep people like us from figuring it out?” Din offers but it sounds weak even to his own ears. Considering how much they’ve been stumbling in the dark, it seems like the Empire is doing a good job of covering their traces regardless.

“And then there is the question of Grogu’s blood,” Luke frowns, “To the best of my knowledge the blood of a force-sensitive being was not required to engineer clones.” He takes another sip of his tea, pondering the data in front of him. “If we could at least understand how the engineers on Kamino chose Jango Fett as their donor--”

“Jango Fett?”

“Yes,” Luke raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “He provided the DNA blueprint for the Republic’s clones.”

“I think,” and Din can’t believe he is about to say this, “I know a guy.”

* * *

When Din can ignite and hold the darksaber without getting nauseous, they move on to sparing. 

Keeping the whims of the darksaber in check while actually moving turns out to be significantly harder. The first time they face each other Luke’s first strike is so deliberate and precise Din is drowned in the darksaber’s pull all over again. He ends up hunched over, hands on his knees, dry heaving behind his helmet.

They quickly decide to switch the Jedi’s lightsaber out for Din’s beskar spear. 

It works marginally better, but Din still finds himself fighting for control with the weapon in his hand. Especially because Luke turns out to be oddly _distracting_.

In comparison to the first time they spared the Jedi has seemingly decided to take their training seriously this time around. Playful spins of his lightsaber have turned into a firm stance and just as with his own training he has taken off his high collared shirt. Luke swings the spear with such precision that it leaves Din dizzy. 

It’s surprisingly difficult to think of Grogu when all of Luke’s focus is on him. 

He barely manages to block the spear now, as it sails towards his head. Din raises the darksaber just in time for the spear to glide off the blade rather than his helmet. The beskar turns a glowing red where it connects with the darksaber and Din has to broaden his stance against Luke’s weight. He can see the scars on the Jedi’s forearms shift with the flex of his muscles.

Their eyes meet over the crackling of the blade. Luke’s pupils are blown wide and Din nearly loses his grip on the saber. Then the spear twists abruptly in the Jedi’s hands and Din is brought to his knees with a sharp hit against his side.

The cold metal of the spear's blunt end presses into the underside of his chin and Din’s head is dragged up to face his opponent. Luke’s cheeks are flushed, lips parted ever so slightly on a measured exhale.

Absentmindedly Din wonders what Luke must look like to himself in the reflection of his helmet. 

“Dead,” Luke says above him, but Din barely hears it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears and heat pooling in his gut.

* * *

“Something is off.”

It’s their fifth round and instead of immediately jumping back in Luke has started slowly pacing the hold, spear balanced on the palm of his gloved hand. His brows are drawn in concentration as if he is trying to puzzle out a great mystery.

“Off?” Din asks carefully, tilting his head. He’s grateful for the brief pause.

“Yes. I felt it the first time we sparred, but it’s much more pronounced now. It’s like--” Luke stops himself and makes a sweeping gesture with his free hand. He seems to have a hard time putting whatever realization he had into words. Din waits patiently and watches the sweat shimmer on the Jedi’s neck.

Finally, Luke puts the spear back on the ground and stops pacing.

“A kyber crystal that has been in use for so many centuries, must have a strong connection to the Force,” Luke settles on and it makes about as much sense to Din as the sweeping gesture of his hand did. 

“What does that mean?”

“I think the darksaber acts like a conduit to the Force.” 

Din just tilts his head and Luke continues with a small laugh. “You could imagine it like the transmitter in the holoprojector upstairs. You might not be able to connect to or receive the Force, but the darksaber is. So as long as you are in its possession, as long as you wield it, it connects you to the Force.”

“So I… could lift things with my mind? Like you?”

Luke looks thoughtful, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never encountered anything like it.” 

Luke goes quiet again, a frown deep on his face. Then his lips draw tight as if he’s unsure about the thing he is about to say next.

“I’d like to try something.”

Din tilts his helmet at him.

“I’d like you to take off your armor.”

Din’s throat goes very dry, very fast.

“Why?” he asks and hopes it doesn’t show in his voice.

“The beskar dulls your connection to the Force,” Luke explains carefully. “It’s not impossible for me to reach you through it, but it’s certainly harder. I think it’s the same for the darksaber. My theory is that there is a higher chance of you getting accustomed to its effect without that layer between you and what it’s trying to connect you to.”

And that… kind of makes sense. Still. He remembers how his heart raced in his throat those nights ago when he sat in the corner of the hold watching the Jedi train. And he feels his pulse rushing in his ears now.

In front of him, Luke’s eyes go soft.

“I’ll put my lightsaber upstairs,” he offers. “And I can wear the blindfold again.”

Din nearly wants to laugh. If Luke was going to kill him he doubts even his armor would do much to stop him. And he could have done so a minute ago.

He sighs. Despite the frantic beating of his heart, he doesn’t feel an urge to run away. He closes his eyes and remembers the calm that settled into him when he watched the Jedi train. He remembers Luke’s smile and how his hair was sticking up in playful disarray. 

“It’s fine,” he says slowly. “The helmet stays on.”

Luke nods and turns around to give him privacy. Din appreciates the gesture. 

He moves to one of the crates at the wall and starts with laying out his cape so he can put the armor safely on top of it. He tries to be efficient with all the clasps and pieces, but even with the Jedi’s back turned to him there is a strange intimacy to it. When he is done stripping off the beskar, he hesitates for a second but ultimately also slips off his padding and boots. On a whim, he puts the little silver ball into the pocket of his pants. 

“Alright,” he says quietly, once he’s left with nothing but his pants, undershirt, socks, and helmet. It’s the same thing he faced Luke in before, but knowing the Jedi will actually be able to see him this time makes it feel just as daunting as it did back then.

He finds himself holding his breath. The same thoughts play out in his mind. He wonders if it will matter to the Jedi to see him like this. If the significance of not wearing his armor will actually register with him.

When Luke finally turns around, Din is surprised to see that he keeps his eyes downcast.

And again he wonders--

“Luke.”

Luke’s head snaps up and the air rushes out of his lungs as if he had been holding his breath. There is a look in his eyes that Din can’t quite place. Something nearly reverent and careful. His eyes are wide and terribly blue.

 _Oh_. Din realizes that this is the first time he said the Jedi’s name.

In front of him, Luke draws a long breath. Then he gives a curt nod. "Shall we begin?" 

He swings the spear up into his hands and takes a fighting stance. "When you ignite the darksaber this time, try to give yourself room to feel how it reacts to your surroundings. Hold on to your anchor - don't let it drown you - but pay mind to the world around you." 

Din squares his knees and tries to concentrate on the cold metal of the floor under his feet. He tries to think of Grogu, manifested as the weight of the small silver ball in his pocket. He tries to listen to Luke's breathing, calm and even in front of him.

He ignites the darksaber.

It doesn't feel much different at first, the same vibration in his palms, the same strange push. But then Luke moves towards him, spear drawn, and it's like he can feel him in the space around him, just a little, just a tiny flicker that makes his hand tilt the darksaber _just so_.

The blade connects with the spear earlier than on previous attempts - proactively - and Luke misses a step. A grin spreads on the Jedi’s lips. 

"Very well," he laughs, and Din gets the strange feeling he's talking to the darksaber.

Luke switches stance and tries again. He's still swift, and still precise, and very much deadly. But there is _something_ in the vibration of the darksaber now. A minute shift that makes Din feel sure of his swings. And it makes Luke seem just a little out of step.

They connect again, once, twice, and then Din moves towards an opening in Luke's defense before he even consciously registers it is there. The Jedi’s eyes go wide as Din twists the spear out of his hands. Within a split second Din has him pinned down on the floor, straddling his hips. The darksaber hovers inches from Luke’s face.

Din’s heart is hammering in his chest, Luke’s body real and solid beneath him, without an inch of beskar to shield him from his warmth. He takes in a shaky breath to announce his victory, but when he looks up at the Jedi’s face the words die on his lips.

Luke’s eyes are wide, breath coming heavy, and he looks up at Din like he hasn’t seen him in years, like he desperately wanted to. The darksaber is so close to burning a hole in his neck but he doesn't seem to care. 

Instead, Luke reaches out his hand, achingly slowly, and wraps his bare fingers around Din’s neck. His touch is warm and soft and overwhelmingly real. Din feels the world around them tilt off its axis.

"I can _feel_ you," Luke breathes, soft and reverent. His eyes are so wide and so blue, and the flicker of the darksaber’s blade makes it look like there is a storm raging behind them. 

Luke's fingers move up Din’s neck slowly, fingertips brushing against the underside of his jaw, and Din forgets how to breathe. 

“ _Din_.” Luke says his name as if it were an anchor, heavy and impossible to grasp. Then his fingers start slipping under Din’s helmet. 

Din can feel them along the edges of his jaw, moving up at the back of his neck, brushing into his hair and--

His vision blurs with a sudden feeling of _something_ , at the edges of his mind. Something bigger than himself, but small and fragile and precious and _scared_. The feeling spreads down his neck, past Luke’s hand, into his chest, filling his lungs and dissolving him into--

Din feels his grip on the darksaber slip and manages to turn it off just a split second before the blade comes down on Luke’s neck. The hilt rattles to the ground with a deafening clang.

Underneath him, Luke pulls his hand back abruptly, connection lost. 

For a moment he blinks up at Din as if he is unsure where he is. Then his eyes become worried, regretful. 

"I-- I'm sorry," Luke rasps and looks away. He pulls his hand towards his chest, covering it with his gloved one. "I shouldn't have--" 

He looks so pained, so _lost_ , and Din--

"I abused your trust," Luke says, under his breath, and then again, even quieter, "I'm sorry." 

"No it's--" Din clears his throat, voice rough. He can barely get any words out. His throat is dry and his head spinning. His hands flex into firsts where they are keeping him propped up beside Luke’s head. 

"It's fine," he drags out of himself and it’s meaningless and not what he wants to say at all. 

He needs to do _something_. Say _anything_. But his thoughts are still scrambled and swirling at the back of his head, bigger than himself, and small and fragile and precious and _scared_.

Luke doesn't look at him, body tense beneath him and Din can’t shake the feeling that somehow the one who overstepped their boundaries was Din himself. That whatever the Jedi saw within him was somehow too much to hold.

There it is again, that feeling. _Something shifted_. 

Back out of orbit, back out of place, farther away, distant and--

In the end, all Din can do is stand up with a heavy sigh and watch helplessly as Luke draws away from him.

* * *

At night he wakes as the walls of the ship vibrate, a scream stuck in his throat, but before he can scramble out of bed to check on Luke he is dragged back to sleep by the warmth of setting twin suns.

* * *

The next time Din takes his armor off to spar, Luke is already wearing his blindfold when he turns around. There is no reaction, no hesitation, no intake of breath or emotion in his eyes. 

Din thinks of the feeling that spread down his neck at Luke’s touch. How it was terrifying to feel something bigger than himself flow past the Jedi’s hand, into his chest, filling his lungs and dissolving him into--

Luke takes a fighting stance and his face is pleasantly blank, his movements smooth and controlled and impersonal. 

And that is worse.

When he ignites the darksaber he isn’t even surprised when nausea settles in his stomach. He can feel his own frustration mirrored clearly in the vibration of the blade.

He tries his best to focus on his anchor, on Grogu warm on his lap under the heat of--

The blade connects with the cold steel of the beskar spear. His hands nearly slip on the hilt.

He focuses harder - on the weight of the silver ball in his pocket, the cold metal of the floor under his feet, Luke’s breathing, the way the blade wants to _pull -_ but he can barely hear anything over the thoughts rushing through his head. 

The black of Luke’s blindfold seems to swallow him whole, like the high collar of his shirt and his distant smile, and all he can think of is, _look at me, look at me, look at me, lookatme look--_

He doesn’t best the Jedi once. 

* * *

After he's done cataloging all his own emotions about the Jedi, Din starts cataloging their rations and supplies instead, so his mind won't make him do something unbidden.

He pointedly ignores Luke’s yellow jacket lying abandoned up in the cockpit and tries to forget how it makes him want to brush his fingers through the Jedi’s golden hair. He uses the fact that he is always aware of Luke’s position, to move out of the way when the Jedi appears behind him unannounced.

When Luke makes tea with rolled-up sleeves, Din looks away before his own fingers itch to touch the scars dancing with the movement of his forearms and he pushes down the urge to put his palms to smooth skin. 

The Jedi continues to quietly pour two cups, but Din starts leaving the second one to cool on the stove when retreating to his quarters.

More often than not he tries his best not to notice how the Jedi averts his gaze from him now, eyes filled with a mixture of resolve and something Din isn’t able to interpret at all.

On rare occasions, his hand comes close to accidentally brushing against Luke's shoulder, and he pulls it away before the fabric of Luke’s shirt can feel warm under his gloves.

Every second they spend alone on the ship makes his armor feel suffocatingly sharp.

  
  


* * *

Establishing Grogu as his anchor makes it increasingly hard to set the thought of him aside, even when they are not sparing. It becomes hard not to wonder what he could be up to. If he’s eaten. If he's safe. 

If he’s happy. 

It becomes harder to tell himself that this is how it has to be, when he constantly focuses on what it would feel like to hold him close. And he starts to wonder if it was simply easier not to ask, than face the consequences. 

So when Luke joins him after his latest transmission, Din sits up straighter and takes a determined breath. 

“Bo-Katan told me I would never be allowed to see him again,” he says into the quiet of the cockpit. It’s neither a question nor a request, but it’s a start.

Luke blinks up at him in surprise. Then he looks away and is very quiet, for a very long time. 

Din finds himself holding his breath. 

“She is right,” Luke admits finally. 

And Din knew that. Somehow he did, but still. The confirmation that he won’t be able to keep his promise breaks his heart all the same. 

Then Luke sights. “Or at least she was.”

Din risks a glance at him. The Jedi’s gaze is far and distant, as if he is pondering something far greater than Din’s simple concern for his son.

“The Jedi Order, as Bo-Katan knew them, frowned upon attachments,” Luke says, eyes trained firmly on the blue of hyperspace in front of them. “They believed that emotional detachment was essential to prevent Jedi from turning to the dark side.”

Luke’s tone of voice reminds Din of Ahsoka Tano. There is something buried deep that he doesn’t understand. A pain they carried for a long time.

“To keep them safe, Jedi would not marry. And younglings would not see their parents. The Order became your whole life. But now …” Luke trails off with a shrug. Then he heaves another long sigh. When he looks up at Din, he somehow looks both older and younger than his age.

“Well, I’m the only one left,” Luke admits, uncharacteristically clear. He looks away again, fingers rubbing over the wrist of his gloved hand. Dipped in the blue hue of space he looks lost and lonely and very human. His voice is very quiet when he speaks again. “And I don’t know what to do.”

With a stab to his chest Din realizes that Luke must have truly meant it when he said he understood if Din wanted to stay with his Covert. With his own kind. That he truly knows what it’s like to think you are the last one out there. That he probably wants nothing more than to be reunited with his own kind too. That in comparison to Din, he can't be.

In the silence that stretches between them, Din’s heart breaks all over.

“I was told I could never take it off,” Din says into the quiet. Luke's head snaps up as if he had forgotten Din was there. 

“I put it on when I swore the Creed. I was barely of age. And I never broke that promise. Until Grogu was in danger. And all I could think of was him.”

“You protected your family, a noble cause. Surely that would be recognized by your clan,” Luke reasons as if he is trying to comfort him. Din wonders if he would find the Jedi’s assumption offensive if it wasn’t so right. If it wasn’t the exact thing the Armorer had pointed out to him.

“But I did take it off,” Din sighs and looks away. _And you make me think it wouldn’t be so bad to do it again,_ he thinks to himself and keeps the thought very very close to his chest.

Luke stays quiet beside him.

“So where is the line,” Din says instead and lets his head fall back against the seat.

 _Where does my path become my own_ , he hears echoing in his mind and he isn't sure which of them thought it.

* * *

Din is sat on the floor of the hold, cataloging their rations when he feels it: the now-familiar vibration of the ship's walls. Dread pools in his stomach like an afterthought.

He knows Luke is not in his bed. He never is. Din puts the rations back in their crate slowly and makes his way upstairs. When he steps through to the upper deck, the rattling stops abruptly. 

He finds Luke on the benches at the wall. He is slumped over them, body lax, and head lolling backward on the backrest. After weeks Din is familiar with how the Jedi usually hides his exhaustion. He’s caught Luke more than once, blinking away the fear in his eyes and sitting up straight to give Din a smile. Calm and distant.

But today he barely even stirs. He looks so tired, his whole posture just so resigned. 

Din wants to tell himself that he hesitates, that he truly considers the Jedi’s boundaries. That he fights with himself on if he should engage or stay away. That he could turn his back like he did when they were sparing.

But in reality, he doesn’t even stop at the door. He’s at Luke’s side in an instant.

Only when he sits down beside him, he pauses for a second to give Luke time to adjust to or protests his presence. The Jedi just rolls his head over to shift his gaze from looking at the ceiling to watching Din through hooded eyes.

He looks so _tired_.

Din takes off the glove of his right hand. He moves it towards Luke’s left, which is resting lax on the bench between them, and hovers above it for a second. He gives him ample time to pull it away. When Luke doesn't move, he lets their fingers glide together slowly.

Luke’s skin feels sleep warm and slightly clammy and very real. Din can feel his own heartbeat hammering in his chest so loud he is certain Luke must hear it even through the beskar. But he keeps steady, willing his breath to stay even and calm behind his helmet.

Luke’s gaze drops to their joined palms, as if he has to confirm what he’s feeling is real. A shaky breath escapes his lips, out of sync. For a second, tension bleeds back into the Jedi’s body and there is a moment where Din fully believes he is about to get up and walk away.

But then his shoulders slump again with a long sigh. Whatever battle Luke had with himself is over. Din isn’t sure if it was won or lost. 

Luke’s fingers wrap around his hand and he’s not sure he cares all that much, either. 

That feeling is back in his chest, spreading warm and sure, telling him to protect _this_.

And so Din takes a slow breath, leans back beside Luke, and does the one thing he knows how to do in a situation like this. The one thing the Armorer did for him, without fail, whenever he woke from a nightmare. The one thing he did for Grogu many sleepless nights on the Razor Crest.

He sings Luke a lullaby in soft Mando'a.

At Din’s first hum Luke’s eyes snap up again, blinking up at him with something akin to surprise. Din continues undeterred. The further he gets the more he can see Luke’s eyelids drop and his body relax. 

Still, he keeps blinking his eyes open, clearly fighting to stay awake. There is a hint of desperation hidden behind the blue of his eyes as if he is reluctant to let this moment go. In the end, his exhaustion wins and Din watches his eyes flutter close and his breathing even out.

When Din is certain Luke is fast asleep again, once he has repeated the same lullaby three times over, he slowly starts to stand up again. He carefully slides his hand out of Luke’s palm and--

Luke’s fingers tighten around Din’s, holding him in place with desperate strength. 

“Stay,” Luke breathes and it sounds so small and so far away. He takes a shuddering breath and then, silently Din feels a voice at the back of his mind - ‘ _Please’_

Din shifts closer until their shoulders touch and ankles tangle together. He holds Luke’s hand tighter and stays.

* * *

Luke is fidgety.

Din has seen him be many things - brave, distant, kind, deadly, cryptic, terrifying, deceptively calm, the list is long. He’s never seen him fidgety. 

But now, as they slowly descend into hangar 3-5 of Mos Eisley’s spaceport, the Jedi keeps tapping his foot restlessly on the cockpit floor. His hands are firmly clasped in his lap, but only because five minutes prior he nearly stirred them into a collision with a departing craft. Din had to very strongly suggest he take his hands off the cockpit controls.

“Are you ok?” Din asks, unsure of how to approach a fidgeting Jedi of Luke’s size. Grogu he would have pulled onto his lap to keep him from wreaking havoc on the ship, but Luke … well.

“Fine,” Luke says beside him, lips drawn tight and eyes trained firmly on his hands. 

Din sighs, “Alright.”

If Luke doesn’t want to tell him there is not much he can do. One Mando’a lullaby is not going to magically set them right again. No matter how much he wants it to. Whatever it is that has got Luke spooked, Din is sure they can handle it. Probably. Maybe. _Kriff_.

On the way out the Jedi grabs his black cloak for the first time since they departed Navarro. Actual worry settles into Din's stomach. He makes sure to disembark the Mudhorn first.

"Never thought I'd see you again,” Peli Motto's unruly mop of curls greets him at the bottom of the ramp. “And with a ship as classy as her! Who did you kill to get that beauty?"

Din heaves a preemptive sigh before he opens his mouth to answer. He stops when he sees Peli’s eyes go wide as Luke steps out of the ship behind him.

“Wormie Skywalker?!”

_Huh?_

“Wormie?” Din raises an eyebrow behind his helmet.

“Not a word,” Luke hisses, but stays uncharacteristically close to Din. As if he is ready to hide behind him at any second.

"You little womp rat bastard owe me three days of work!" 

Peli points an accusing finger at Luke before she throws her hands up and turns to Din. 

"Can you believe it?” she complains, in much the same tone parents complain to each other about their kids. “I took him in, gave him a good job away from his uncle's stinky old farm in the summer and what does he do? Just nopes off and goes playing hero for the rebels!"

"In my defense,” Luke says slowly, “the empire did not care for the fact that my contract wasn't finished before they started shooting at me."

“Ah pap, should have shot back better,” Peli bristles, “Thought you were some hotshot hero!”

“I’m really not,” Luke says and it’s much more earnest than Din would have expected.

Peli glares at him for a minute, then she sighs, long and exaggerated, “Fine, sand under the bridge.” She snaps her fingers and motions her droids to have a look at the Mudhorn. "Where's the little guy?"

Din instinctively looks at Luke to answer, but the Jedi hesitates beside him. His hand is wrapped around his wrist so tight his knuckles are white. So Din answers instead. "Safe," he says without any room for questions and Peli seems satisfied.

When she looks back at Luke her eyes go softer. “I’m sorry about what happened to Biggsy, by the way,” she says and her tone says she means it. “I heard from his mother. Tragic. Having you two kriff around my workshop all these summers was always a highlight."

“Thank you," Luke says with a small smile. Then Din watches as his shoulders tense like he’s readying himself for a blow. A very distinct tightness bleeds into his smile.

“But you showed them,” Peli continues with pride, and Din instantly knows where this is going. “You got them in the end, all of them! Especially Vader that disgusting sleemo.”

Luke tightens the grip on his wrist. Din thinks he hears something crack.

He steps closer to Luke until their shoulders brush.

“We need to get to our speeder,” Din interrupts. “We called ahead, it’ll be gone if we don’t hurry.”

It’s a lie and Luke knows it. But the Jedi just nods seriously up at Din, as if he truly had forgotten.

“Can we leave you with the ship?” Din fishes some credits from his belt and puts them in Peli’s waiting hands. 

“You got it,” she gives him a little wink and a mock salute. If she is offended by his antics she lets him get away with it. “Don’t let the banthas bite you!” she calls after them, but Din barely hears it. He has already grabbed Luke’s hand to pull him out of there.

When they are past the hangar door the tightness in Luke's smile slowly bleeds away.

“Thank you,” he says, quiet in the business of the city's streets. He pulls his cloak deep into his face and Din gets ready to give him space, loosening the grip on his hand. But instead of stepping away Luke laces their fingers together and leans closer, until they are connected, pressed palms to bumping shoulders.

Din breathes in the hot Tatooine air and absentmindedly wishes he could take off his glove. Neither of them lets go until they actually have to hail a speeder.

* * *

Din catches on when they’re halfway to their destination.

Luke's uneasiness. Peli. How he knew what shortcut to take through Mos Eisley’s endless monotone streets. The fact that he knew where to get the cheapest speeder. 

Warm sand under his feet and the heat of twin setting suns.

“You grew up here,” he concludes, voice raised over the air whipping around them.

Luke laughs, something in him loosened now that they are gliding over the empty nothingness of the dune sea. “Yes,” he says, hair whipping around his face, while he leans one arm over the side of the speeder, the other lax on the steering. “Out on a moisture farm, south from here.”

“Have you been back since--” Din trails off, letting the wind carry his voice away. At the back of his mind, he thinks he can smell smoke and burning flesh.

Luke’s smile turns dark and distant. “Twice,” he says. “Didn’t end well.”

They are quiet the rest of the ride.

* * *

“I’m pretty sure I’m banned from this place,” Luke says, tone dead serious, as they walk up to Jabba’s old palace. 

“I don’t think there is any living creature that could be banned from a place like this.”

“You’d be surprised,” Luke says and hides his face further under his cloak when the gatekeeper droid pops out of the wall to take their inquiry.

Din sighs. Well, he’s not turning back. Whatever hijinks Luke got up to in his youth can't be much worse than anything they’ve faced so far.

“Tell your master Din Djarin wishes to speak to him,” Din tells the droid and it takes barely thirty seconds before the doors swing open. Luke drags his feet.

Din sighs again. Without the cooling wind of the speeder, the twin suns make his armor feel like he is about to be boiled alive. “You trust me?”

Luke looks up at him, face unreadable in the shadow of his hood. Din has the weird feeling that the Jedi is seizing him up, even after all the nights spent on the ship. It makes him inexplicably nervous. It reminds him that their tentative camaraderie is something he can lose.

“I do,” Luke nods finally and steps up beside him. Din resists the urge to lace their fingers together again.

On the way down the stairs Din goes through any number of scenarios that might await them. Any number of criminals that might have it out for Luke, and any number of defensive and exit strategies he could take to keep the Jedi safe.

The one thing he does not consider is Luke - who always talks first and shoots last - drawing his lightsaber the second he sees Boba Fett on Jabba’s old throne.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

The minute the blade comes to life the music stops and the air seems to be sucked out of the room. Everyone either freezes mid-movement or with their hand on their blaster. Behind Boba, Fennec is trying very hard not to laugh. 

“What’s going on?” Din asks confused and inches slightly closer to Luke. Somehow the Jedi’s expression is stuck between mortified, angry, and sheepish.

“Last time we met he fed me to a worm,” Boba says amicably from his throne.

 _Oh dank farrik_. He forgot about that. 

“In my defense,” Luke starts and it’s the most strained Din has ever heard him, “He tried to kill me first. On multiple occasions. He also carbon froze and sold my best friend to Jabba the Hutt.”

He glances at Din as if he somehow needs him to know he’s speaking the truth. “Remember that scar on my left shoulder? That’s Fett’s handiwork.” 

He does. Din remembers all of them. A surge of protectiveness rises in his chest. He steps closer in some feeble attempt to reassure Luke that he’s got his back, even now. By some miracle it seems to work and the Jedi lowers his lightsaber ever so slightly. 

“So with all due respect,” Luke says, and it doesn’t sound respectful at all. “I feel like my actions were somewhat justified.”

There is another tense silence, a few seconds where Din tries to figure out how to get Luke out of the palace as fast as possible, with the least casualties as possible. But all the tension disperses when Boba lets out a sudden bellowing laugh.

“I would agree with that, Skywalker.”

Before either Luke or Din can grasp what’s going on Boba gestures to Fennec, who at this point is in tears laughing. “A round of our finest spotchka for everyone,” he commands and the crowd around them erupts into cheers, ”Let’s give this man a heroe’s welcome!”

Beside him, Luke shuts off his lightsaber, clearly just as confused as Din. Before they can exchange as much as a glance, someone grabs the Jedi’s arm and starts dragging him away.

Luke looks back at Din with pleading eyes, but Din is already being shoved forward as well, so all he can do is shrug.

* * *

Two hours later Luke is drunk, laughing, and losing an arm-wrestling match against Fennec.

Din is sober, confused, and watching the scene unfold from where he’s leaned against the wall. He’s close enough to catch Luke should he slide off his chair. From all the angles he thought he might get to observe the Jedi, this was probably the one he had least expected to ever get to see.

But here they are and Luke is flushed and grinning and _beautiful_. It’s the most relaxed Din has ever seen him. His hair is in complete disarray and he has long since lost the cloak, the top of his shirt hanging open haphazardly. He can hold his liquor that’s for sure. No man should be able to move this smoothly after this many shots of spochka. Din wonders if that’s a Force or farmboy thing.

He wonders what it says about Luke, that he seems to feel the most relaxed drunk off his ass among a group of ruthless criminals.

“We have enough rooms you know,” Boba says, stepping up beside Din. When Din tilts his helmet in confusion, he raises a pale eyebrow. “If you want to bend him over something I mean.”

Din forgets how to breathe. “I-- _what_?”

“Oh come one, you’ve been staring at him for hours. Fennec’s starting to take bets.”

“It’s not--” Din swallows, hard. “We’re not like that.”

“You knew his _scars_ ,” Boba counters, very skeptical. “You’ve seen him naked at least once.”

Din sighs and opens his mouth to argue, but before he can make his case Boba’s eyes go wide in realization. “ _Kriff_ , you’re sober aren’t you?”

Din just tilts his head at him again. He has a feeling he won’t like where this is going.

"Yea yea my bad, ok," Boba steps up on a table and sucks in a gulp of air before shouting at the top of his lungs. “ _EVERYONE!_ The Mand'alor needs a drink!"

There are loud cheers of approval all around. Luke might agree the loudest. _Great_.

"So I need all of you to turn around and close your eyes!" Boba continues, holding up an authoritative finger for good measure. Some faces look at him confused, others just nod solemnly even though Din knows they probably have no idea what's going on.

"You heard me - close your _kriffin’_ eyes!" Boba bellows and to Din’s surprise, people actually start turning around and closing their eyes. "If you open your eyes before I give you the go, if you as much as blink, the Jedi will know and whoop your ass!"

"That's right!" Luke confirms, without a shred of hesitation and just as loud as Boba. 

The last eyes dutifully snap closed. Fennec steps up beside him and hands him a bottle of Spochka. She’s wearing Boba’s helmet and from the way she fumbles with the bottle, Din can tell her eyes are already closed beneath it.

Across the room, Luke raises his glass at Din and their eyes meet. He gives him a reassuring nod before he too closes them. Somehow, inexplicably, it actually makes Din feel safe.

"For Mandalore!" Boba screams and the crowd echoes the sentiment with closed eyes and roaring laughter. 

_Dank Farrik_. 

He’s doing this, isn’t he?

Din takes one last look at Luke, whose face is drawn in concentration, as if he’s actually keeping watch over Din’s honor. Then he raises the helmet over his chin and takes a chuck straight out of the bottle. 

Just as he lowers the helmet again a burly Twi'lek man is catapulted against the ceiling with a flick of Luke’s wrist and the crowd cheers.

The rest of the night they sing and dance and Din watches as people challenge Luke to levitate things when he’s barely able to stand upright. It shouldn’t be funny, but Din is holding onto Luke, toppled over laughing and he can’t remember the last time he felt this light. 

* * *

Much later, deep into the night, when Din has to pry away Luke’s cloak from one of Boba’s rowdy guests, he realizes with a very distinctive sense of unease that it’s been quite a while since he had the Jedi in his periphery.

In the business of the crowd, no one notices how frantically he scans the room. Or how fast he scrambles out to find him. And no one is there to hear his relieved sigh, when he eventually finds Luke at the very top of the palace, staring out at the night sky. 

Luke is sitting on a broad windowsill, back propped up against the window’s frame. His right leg is drawn up to his chest, the other dangles down into the room. The tip of his boot drags idly against the floor as if to tether him.

Like everything else on this planet, the cold desert breeze is unrelenting and Din wonders how the Jedi isn’t freezing in the cold yet. He steps up beside him and hands Luke his cloak.

Luke accepts it with a small smile but just lets it drop down on the windowsill instead of putting it on. Without a second thought Din reaches down to grab it again and spreads it out over his legs instead. Luke huffs out a laugh but doesn’t protest.

There is still a light flush on his cheeks, eyes glazed over yet somehow sharp. The wind makes his hair dance gentler around his face. He looks up at Din now and--

"Din," Luke says with a smile dipped in moonlight, and Din’s heart stutters in his chest. “Sit with me?” 

Din does. 

He props himself up against the opposite side of the window frame and Luke lifts the cloak so Din can slip his leg under it. Their shins brush first, then Luke lifts his leg over Din’s to hook their ankles together. Din keeps one leg dangling into the room, the tip of his boot dragging idly against the floor, in an attempt to tether himself.

It’s quiet here, save for a distant shout from downstairs. Peaceful so far away from the drunken crowd. The Spochka sits warm in his stomach, and Luke is a steady weight against his leg. Din follows the Jedi’s gaze up to the night sky.

“I always wanted to be amongst the stars,” Luke says, voice soft with sleep and alcohol. “I’d lay in bed every night, wondering what it would be like to just fly up and get away.”

A deep sigh escapes Luke's lips, and somewhere in Din’s buzzed mind, he realizes that the Jedi is not talking about the stars at all. That he is recounting a memory instead, a feeling and a place, from a time long before they knew each other.

“Biggs was the first to leave,” Luke continues. It takes Din a second to connect the name with the ‘ _Biggsy_ ’ Peli mentioned. “It was exciting at first. He’d come back with stories from off-world. He became my lifeline while I was stuck here.”

Luke turns his head back to Din and closes his eyes as if the vastness of the sky is suddenly too much to bear. In the darkness, the lines on his face appear softer, and for a brief moment Din catches a glimpse of the carefree kid Luke must have been before war turned him into a myth.

"He was my best friend,” he says. “And he died protecting me." 

Something clicks. "When they congratulate you…" 

"All I can think of is how I couldn't save them in the end. All the people that depended on me," Luke says, voice even and calm. As if it's a fact, a part of his reality, that he's come to accept a long time ago. “And how all I truly leave in my wake is death.”

It’s then that Din thinks he understands, just a little bit, why there are so many angles to the Jedi. How there isn’t really any other way to exist, but fractured and distant, if you carry that kind of guilt alone. That kind of responsibility. 

How Luke thinks of himself as many things, but _hero_ is not one of them.

And how it makes sense that he feels most relaxed drunk off his ass among a group of ruthless criminals.

Din takes off his glove and stretches out his hand to rest on the cloak between them. It’s a small gesture, in the grand scheme of things. A quiet show of comfort. It’s just as innocent as when he held Luke’s hand on the ship, or when he pulled him away from Peli’s praise.

But for a second Luke looks at it as if Din had just pulled the stars out of the sky and offered them up in his palm. Then his brows draw, tension bleeding back into his shoulders and Din knows that whatever inner battle he was fighting on the ship is still raging in his mind. 

So he waits and lets the wind brush over his bare skin until Luke eventually lets out a resigned sigh and allows himself to glide their palms together. Warmth spreads in Din’s chest, heartbeat picking up a few paces despite how sleepy he feels.

“You felt it when he died,” Din says when he feels Luke’s fingers draw tight around his. It’s not a question.

“Yes,” Luke answers anyways and looks back up at the sky. His eyes are calm and his voice even. “I feel all of them.”

There is nothing he can really say to that, so instead, Din gently brushes his thumb over the back of Luke’s hand until some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

“Could you sing me the lullaby again?” Luke asks, as his eyes flutter closed.

“Of course,” Din says and does. 

When Luke’s breathing evens out, Din absentmindedly worries that the Jedi might fall out the window at night, but he figures tangled as they are, at least they'll fall together.

* * *

The next morning Din wakes up on the floor below the window, warm and uncomfortable and alone. It takes him a moment to grasp where he is. His head feels like it’s trying to vibrate out of his helmet. The suns are already high in the sky, bathing the room in bright light.

Then a lot of memories flood his mind all at once and he scrambles upright to lean himself out the window. To his relief, there is no sign of Luke’s dead body in the sand beneath the palace. Instead, he notices that their rented speeder is gone, and a completely different kind of panic settles in his chest.

He stumbles downstairs, over rows of unconscious bodies, knocked out by either too much Spochka or too enthusiastic fists. Boba greets him at the bottom of the stairs with a raised eyebrow and a cup of caf.

“Luke,” Din manages to get out, and then immediately starts coughing from the dryness of his throat. _Kriff_ , there is a reason he does not drink.

“He’s gone out early,” Boba shrugs. “Said not to worry and that he’ll be back later.”

Something in Din’s posture must give away his current state of panic because Boba lets out a long sigh. “I think I know where he went,” he says. “Fennec can bring you.”

Din is about to turn on his heels and march towards the exit, but Boba grabs a fistful of his cape and unceremoniously yanks him back.

“No,” he says and shoves Din into his private quarters behind the throne. “Breakfast first.”

* * *

After Boba determines that Din is fit enough to brave the Dune Sea, Fennec takes him to a lonely stone hut overlooking the Jundland Wastes. The speeder is parked out front, but Luke is nowhere in sight. Before Din can rush ahead, Fennec holds him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“You might wanna give the kid some space,” she tells him, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

Din stops to actually look at their surroundings, beyond scanning them for danger. Luke said he grew up on a farm. This is not a farm. “Whose house is this?” he asks, taking a step back.

“It belonged to a man named Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Fennec says. “From what I understand he was a Jedi too. Skywalker’s old master.”

“Was?”

“He died quite a while ago.”

“Who lives there now?”

“No one,” she shrugs. “Boba has it kept clean, free of critters, whichever kind. No idea why. Some old debt he doesn’t even tell me about.”

Din stares at the hut for a long time. There is still no sign of Luke. “Thank you,” he sighs finally and Fennec shrugs again.

“No problem,” she says as she gets back into her speeder. “I trust you two will find your way home?”

Din just nods and she’s off.

He waits a little longer, shuffling his feet in the sand, but eventually, his mind drifts to Luke’s quiet confessions in the moonlight and his legs start moving towards the hut on their own.

It’s not his intention to sneak up on Luke, but there is something at the back of his mind telling him to be cautious. He moves towards the door quietly, feet trained from years on the hunt on Tatooine sand. He hears the Jedi before he sees him.

“--so sorry, Ben,” Luke’s voice carries from inside and Din is startled by how small it is. How wavering and _broken_. 

He freezes, heart hammering in his chest.

He catches a glimpse of Luke’s back. He’s on his knees hunched over in the middle of the room, his dark cloak pooling around him like a sea of blood. He seems so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he doesn’t even appear to pick up on Din’s presence through the Force. 

“I’ve failed you,” he confesses, breath hitching, “I wasn’t ready to train him, I--”

Din steps back until he is out of earshot.

Fennec was right. He shouldn’t be here.

No matter how much he wants to be, no matter how much his chest aches with the need to pull Luke out of there and back to the safety of the ship, oh he really, _really_ should not be here.

The little silver ball is burning a hole in Din’s pocket, a weight dragging him down. The hot desert air makes his mouth dry and head spin. _Dank Farrik_.

He paces in front of the speeder for a long time until he somewhat gets his heartbeat back under control. There are a million thoughts racing through his head, threatening to drown him. All of them start with Grogu’s weight in his lap and end with the warmth of Luke’s hand in his palm.

‘ _I wasn’t ready to train him_ ,’ Luke had said and the implications of that bring out something ugly in Din’s mind. The bitter aftertaste of a broken promise, a breach of trust.

But somewhere amidst all the chaos in his head, Din also remembers Ahsoka’s voice. 

How, even with all her strength and glory, she said she couldn't train Grogu either. How she said that there aren’t many Jedi left. And how Luke looked lost and lonely and very human when he told him he was the only one.

Despite everything else guilt settles in Din’s stomach, an oddly familiar weight.

And he thinks about how the responsibility was too big for him too. 

He thinks about how he felt when he told the Armorer that he took off the helmet. And about how he thought he didn’t deserve any of the things that fell into his path. How he pressed his palm over the Mudhorn’s signet and swore to do everything in his power to honor it.

‘ _Is he not a father to your Foundling as you are?’_ the Armorer had said, and all Din could think about was how desperately he wanted to see Luke with his own eyes.

He thinks of Luke’s smile and how desperately he wants to see what it looks like directed at Grogu.

And so finally, with warm sand under his feet and the heat of twin setting suns, Din thinks he made a decision.

* * *

When Luke steps out later, haloed by the setting suns, he looks genuinely surprised to see Din leaned against the speeder. Din for his part just waits patiently as Luke takes one last look at the hut and doesn’t hold back the soft smile that spreads behind the safety of his helmet.

“It’s late,” Din says when Luke steps up to him. He pretends not to notice the redness in his eyes. “We should think about making camp.” 

Luke looks up at him for a long moment, close enough that the tips of their boots touch. As so often, he seems to be considering something that has nothing to do with whatever Din just said.

“There’s somewhere I know we could stay the night,” Luke nods finally. Din doesn’t protest as he claims the spot behind the speeders steering. 

Luke navigates their path through the Jundland Wastes with such easy confidence that Din realizes he must have taken this exact route hundreds of times before. In the end, he is not surprised when he sees the telltale domes of a moisture farm pop up on the horizon. 

As they come closer Luke suddenly goes tense beside him, grip tightening on the steering. For a second Din attributes it to whatever emotions the Jedi must be feeling about returning to his childhood home. Then he spots the banthas tied up outside the dome.

 _Tusken Raiders_.

They arrive just as the suns set. Luke is out of the speeder with his hand on his lightsaber hilt before the engines of the speeder are off. Din vaults over the driver seat and puts himself between the Jedi and the emerging Tuskens before he can ignite it.

For a second Luke looks like he is about to forcefully shove him aside but Din holds up a hand in a quiet plea to trust him. Then he turns his full focus to the three Tuskens that have planted themselves in front of them and signals that neither Luke nor he mean them any harm.

Relive floods him when he realizes that two of them actually remember him from their shared adventure with the krayt dragon. From there it’s quite easy to get them to agree to let them camp out here for the night.

When he turns around to Luke again, the Jedi looks at him with parted lips and wide eyes. It’s very much the same look he gave him yesterday when Din had offered his outstretched palm.

“Come on,” Din says and tilts his head towards the entrance of the farm. “They said the gornt just got done cooking.”

Luke just stares at him for a moment longer, clearly speechless. “You speak Tusken,” he states finally, slowly joining Din as he makes his way towards the stairs leading down to the farm's courtyard. 

“Comes in handy,” Din just shrugs and leads them downstairs.

They are greeted with slightly suspicious looks until one of the raiders clearly recognizes Din and lets out a loud happy grunt. Din retaliates with the same noise and the tension fades as the rest of the raiders join in with collective cheers and raised fists.

Behind him Luke has stopped, hovering on the last stair, a look on his face that Din can’t describe as anything else than lost. Din stops for a second to give him time to take in the space around them.

There is a big sturdy fire pit set up in the middle of the courtyard, beside the old moisture tower. Two Tuskens are keeping watch over a chunk of gornt meat, while others are simply sharing in the fire's warmth. He can see some flower beds lining the walls, filled with sturdy-looking crops. There are cloaks, and other pieces of clothing hung out to dry and gaffi sticks and rifles left abandoned beside the doors. Children are running around laughing, without a care in the world.

Realization dawns on Luke’s face as they come to the same conclusion. This is not a camp, it's a settlement.

"Can you ask them what they are doing here?" Luke asks tentatively as one of the Tusken shows them to a spot at the fire. Din signs out his question.

"He says that they've settled here to raise their children,” he translates the man's response. “It's the first time they've been safe to grow up freely in many decades."

Beside him, Luke swallows and Din watches a lot of complicated emotions cross his face all at once. He thinks he sees surprise and then guilt but most of them are gone too fast for Din to grasp. Luke blinks and looks away, drawing his cloak together around himself. Din leans closer to him on their shared blanket until their shoulders touch.

They sit peacefully for a while, Din making idle conversation with the raiders, while Luke watches on quietly. Slowly a tentative feeling of comfort settles between them and the Tuskens until even the children start to approach them curiously.

“Oh,” Luke breathes surprised, as one of them runs past them, pretending to make a little toy starfighter fly through the air. “That used to be mine,” he says and a distant sadness settles behind his eyes. “Ben gave it to me.”

"Should I ask them to give it back?" Din offers, unsure how to help.

"No, no," Luke says quickly and his face softens. "It's fine."

The kid comes up to them with shy curiosity and Luke stretches out his hand. "Let me see?"

Din translates and after a reassuring look from their mother the kid tentatively hands over the toy. Luke smiles, the soft and unfiltered smile that Din only ever saw him use with the Foundlings. Then he slowly makes the starfighter float above his palm.

Din makes sure to quickly sign to the adults that there is no danger, but his worries are soothed instantly when the kid squeals in delight. Luke laughs and lets the starfighter glide in a loop around the kid before he makes it take off through the courtyard so the children can run after it.

The children's excited laughter seems to be the last thing needed to break the ice and one of the Tuskens leans forward to gesture something at Luke with a distinct nod to Din.

“What did he say?” 

Din sighs. There is no real point in lying, given Luke is probably picking up on the Tusken’s excitement. “That I should tell you about the time I slew the krayt dragon.”

"The krayt dragon?” Luke looks at him in disbelief. “You slew _the_ krayt dragon?" 

"Kind of?” Din feels a strange flutter of uncertainty in his chest at having Luke’s unabashed awe directed at him like this. He didn’t really think there was anything about him that could surprise the Jedi like this. Din ducks his head. 

“It wasn't just me. I barely did anything." 

From across them another very animated flurry of hands follows Din’s humble explanation. Luke looks up at him with big eyes and unfiltered curiosity. _Kriff_.

“And he says I should tell you how I got swallowed by it so I could blow it up from the inside.”

"You got _swallowed_ by it?!"

"I let myself be swallowed,” Din points out. “There is a difference."

Luke throws his head back and laughs, bright and open and there really isn’t anything Din can do but lean closer. 

* * *

When the adults start settling the children into their beds Luke shows Din to the one spot in the courtyard that will be save from the suns once they rise in the morning. Luke doesn’t immediately join when Din lowers himself down against the wall. Instead, he watches the people around them settle with an indiscernible look on his face.

"Rather try sleeping in your old bed?" Din asks jokingly and Luke huffs a laugh.

"No, let the children have it," he says and sits down beside Din with a sigh. "We're just fine here."

Din hums in agreement. Then his mind drifts back to all the emotions he had seen flicker over Luke’s face at the campfire.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly as realization hits him. “It must be strange to see your home taken over like this.”

Luke seems to consider that for a moment, letting his gaze linger on two raiders that are making their way up the stairs to keep watch over their people below.

“No,” he sighs when they are out of sight. “I’m grateful, I think. It’s nice to see this place turned into something useful. Something good.”

Din nods in approval and spreads the blanket the Tuskens left with them out over their legs, to shield them against the desert cold. Luke doesn't protest.

“Besides,” Luke adds. “It hasn’t been my home in a long time.” 

He says it with such a strange mix of longing and resolve, Din wonders if there is any place he actually considers home. He remembers the single crate the Jedi travels with and he figures the answer is probably no.

“Thank you for showing me this,” Luke says after a while, when everything around them is quiet and Din is about to drift off to sleep. There is an edge to Luke’s voice that makes him blink awake again.

“If it weren’t for you I would have taken the life of a lot of innocent beings,” Luke continues and his tone says he means it. Something twists inside Din’s chest.

“I don’t think you would have.”

“You don't know that.”

And no, Din supposes he really doesn’t. But he believes it anyway.

Instead of answering, he leans into Luke and quietly hums the lullaby, until the Jedi sighs and lets his head fall against Din’s shoulder. 

* * *

Din stirs awake to Luke quietly slipping out from under their shared blanket. It’s still mostly dark, the courtyard quiet around them. He knows the Jedi must have felt him come awake, but something tells him to stay still anyways, allowing Luke some space to slip away unnoticed.

When the suns start to slowly rise past the horizon he follows Luke up, to find him standing on a small hill in front of the farm. The black cloak makes him stand out against the dune sea, strange and otherworldly.

Somewhere, faintly at the back of his mind, Din recognizes the spot as the place Luke has helped him find refuge in. Somewhere even fainter, even farther, he wonders if this place is the Jedi’s refuge too. The last place he ever felt safe.

Din steps up beside him and for a while, they watch the suns rise in silence. When their faces are bathed in sunlight, Luke closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sight. 

"I wasn't ready," Luke says and Din thinks he knows what comes next. The sorrow in Luke’s voice still catches him off-guard, painful like the twist of a knife. 

"I thought I could do it but I wasn't ready to train him," he says and Din watches him draw in on himself, knuckles turning white on the wrist of his gloved hand. "The nightmares, I-- I’m _so sorry_ ,” Luke’s voice breaks and when he turns to Din tears are shining in his eyes. “I couldn't keep them inside, I-- I _hurt_ him. He saw my dreams as I saw them and they scared him as they scared me."

The thought of Grogu hurting is a sharp pain in Din’s chest. But the thought of Luke thinking it's his fault is just as bad. The thought that when Luke said he would protect Grogu with his life he meant even from himself.

Din steps closer as Luke bows his head, until the tips of their boots touch. 

"I was relieved," he says, small and quiet. And admitting that hurts too. "It was only for a split second, but part of me was relieved when you came and took him. Because I knew I couldn't be-- because I thought I wasn't what he needed." 

The morning wind carries the laughter of waking children up from the courtyard as Luke looks up at him and draws a shuddering breath. His eyes search Din’s face, disbelieving and terribly blue. Din steps closer.

"But I didn’t even ask your name. I put all that responsibility onto you, without making sure you could carry it," Din says and hesitates for just one second before he wraps his hand around Luke’s neck. “And I was an idiot not to offer to carry it with you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Luke says, voice straining. “It’s not fair to you either. You shouldn't have to--”

“But I want to,” Din says and pushes their foreheads together. 

And part of him revolts at the idea of sharing this gesture, this part of his culture with Luke, when the Jedi probably has no idea what it _means_ to him. But most of him doesn't care. Because all that matters right now is to get close, to make sure that Luke knows he is serious.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he says between them, and he doesn't just mean training Grogu, he means all of it - getting drunk amongst criminals, chasing after a dead culture, fighting off the hordes of people trying to kill them, shouldering the guilt that haunts them in their dreams - _all of it_. 

“I’m right here,” Din promises, with warm sand under their feet and the heat of twin rising suns. 

* * *

"I was about to send out a search party," Boba says when they walk back into the palace. It's clearly a lie. Din just sighs. Something in him itches to get back to the ship.

“Did you look into what I asked you to?”

“What not even a hello?” Boba laughs but rises from his throne to usher them into his private chambers away from prying eyes. “Of course I did.”

Fennec joins them and they gather around a small holoprojector.

“I thought you were joking when you asked about Kamino, but alas--” with a tap of his fingers Boba conjures up a heat map of an old, supposedly abandoned clone facility. The signature shows clear activity.

“This is recent?” Luke asks brows drawn.

“Yes, half a day ago,” Fennec confirms. “We’ve already sent a scout out there.”

Luke looks up at them in surprise. “Why would you help us?”

“Let’s just say if there are about to be more people running around out there that wear my face, I’d like to know,” Boba shrugs. Luke assesses him for a moment, calculating. He doesn’t seem satisfied.

“But why help _me_?”

Boba stares him down for a bit, but when Luke doesn’t budge he sighs. 

“Look kid,” he says, and an unfamiliar softness creeps into his tone. "Way I see it, we are just two men shaped by our fathers, made to survive in a world that needed us to be something we aren't."

A moment passes between them where Luke seems uncharacteristically out of his depth. Din can’t blame him. When the silence drags on too long Fennec rolls her eyes.

“Poetic,” she says, with mock disdain, and Luke huffs a laugh. 

Boba shrugs, unaffected. “The universe is shit,” he says and nods at Din. ”But if he's following you around, Skywalker, you can't be all bad.”

“Likewise,” Luke says with a smile. Din wonders when and how he became a hallmark for trustworthiness.

“While we wait for the scout’s report I think there is something else you should check out,” Boba gets back to business and calls up another planet on the holoprojector.

“Mustafar?” Din asks skeptically. "That planet is nothing but a big lava pit."

"Yes, but it’s also home to his dad's old fortress," Boba says with a nod to Luke.

Din tilts his head in confusion. _Why the kriff would Luke’s father need a fortress?_

When he looks to Luke for answers, the Jedi’s face is drawn. He is rubbing circles around the wrist of his gloved hand. _My mother died early_ , Luke had said. He never mentioned his father.

Din turns back to Boba. "What makes you think we'll find information there?" 

"Well before his daddy built his creepy mausoleum on there, Mustafar was where the Sith liked to kidnap force-sensitive children too,” Boba explains. “This all started because they took your little womp rat, I figured that might be worth a shot." 

“We’ll check it out,” Din nods when Luke stays quiet. 

“Good luck,” Fennec says with a tone that makes Din think they might need it. Din turns to leave, but Luke speaks up before he can get very far.

“I need something else.” 

“Oh making demands now, are we?” Boba crosses his arms, but he sounds amused.

Luke just raises his eyebrows and waits. 

"Go on then."

"The old moisture farm in the south. I want you to put it under your protection."

"Isn't that overrun by vermin?"

"No," Luke says, face stern. "It's settled by Tuskens."

Boba considers it for a second then shrugs, "Sure."

"And Ben's hut. If they want it they can have it."

Boba raises an eyebrow. There are two seconds of tense silence, then he laughs. "Whatever you say, kid."

"Thank you,” Luke says with a pleased smile. “I won't forget it."

"You better," Fennec tells him. "Won't want anyone to think the old man here has gone soft."

Luke nods and turns to join Din. Before he reaches the door he turns back and bows his head with a grin. “May the Force be with you.” 

Fennec flips him off.

* * *

"It’s been a while since anyone tried to take darksaber from you," Luke remarks on their way back to Mos Eisley. He has to raise his voice over the wind whipping through the speeder.

Din mulls that over for a second. He noticed the distinct lack of murder attempts too. 

"I think Boba placed me under some kind of protection."

"Or Ms. Motto did," Luke says and Din can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

"Or Ms. Motto did," Din agrees after a second and tries not to dwell on the fact that Tatooine might be the only planet in the galaxy where no one wants to murder them.

For now, he focuses on the satisfaction he draws from the thought that Boba declaring him untouchable probably pisses Bo-Katan off to no end.

* * *

While Din runs the last pre-flight checks on the Mudhorn, Luke takes a holo transmission at the command table.

When he hears Grogu’s name, Din’s hand moves to close the cockpit door on instinct. He stops himself before he can hit the button. Instead, he takes a deep breath and slowly turns his chair.

“So when will you be back, Commander?” the woman flickering in front of Luke asks with a grin. “We’re running out of cookies to keep him from decimating the local frog population.”

Luke looks up and meets Din’s eyes over the command table. Din feels the urge to look away, but a small smile tucks at the corner of Luke’s lips and he holds his ground.

“Soon,” Luke says, eyes never leaving Din’s visor. “Thank you, Shara.”

He gives the woman a final nod and shuts off the holoprojector. When he walks over and leans against the cockpit’s door, his movements are slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to give Din time to get up and walk away. 

Din stays frozen in place, heart hammering loud behind the beskar.

There is a beat of silence, a moment where they both seem to steel themselves, the second just before their paths merge. Before, for the first time, they choose a direction together.

When Luke speaks, Din feels like it’s the first time in months that he can truly breathe. 

"Would you like to see him again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Din, when Luke asks him to take his armor off: oh boi I sure hope this doesn't awaken something in me_   
>  _The Darksaber: (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_
> 
> I’m sorry this chapter took so long I just-- life I guess? Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos, I can’t accurately express how happy it makes me to read about how excited everyone is :’) And to all those people who leave whole ass essays - I see you and I aasdhjkdfghjk
> 
> The ‘Boba gets Din drunk’ scene was brought to you by my partner’s headcanon that Din must be great at chucking any kind of liquid, because he probably had to learn how to drink real fucking fast or never drink on any mission ever lmao
> 
> Also, the ‘Luke working at Peli’s garage during summers’ headcanon belongs to [pencilscratchins](https://pencilscratchins.tumblr.com/) and is inspired by [this incredible artwork](https://pencilscratchins.tumblr.com/post/642319180156239872/anyway-heres-wonderwall-or-a-dinluke-dump-id) they did! Please go check out their tumblr, their art is just pure joy and the balance you’ll desperately need against all this angst <3
> 
> I thought a lot about Mayfeld saying “As far as I’m concerned if you can make it through your day and still sleep at night you’re doing better than most.” while writing this and gosh I’m so sorry Luke, I swear I want him to be happy.
> 
> Next up - AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED (but enough trauma for at least ten people)


	4. The Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Din stops holding himself back from getting closer to the Jedi, he starts to worry about him instead. Small observations that settle heavy in his mind, unbidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to tell you what to do or anything, but I can rly recommend listening to [One Last Goodbye by Klergy](https://youtu.be/_dbyDUg2WUM) for the Mustafar scenes and [Hold Back The River by James Bay](https://youtu.be/mqiH0ZSkM9I) for Yavin!
> 
> As always, thank you to [capdjarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capdjarin/pseuds/capdjarin) for beta reading this <3

Some part of Din thought that Boba had been joking when he called their next destination a fortress. But now that he sees the tall black structure come into view, there is really nothing else he can describe it as. 

It stands menacing against the lava that's threatening to drown it and its crumbling walls seem to hold up out of pure spite, despite the planet's best efforts to bury whatever happened here into the depths of the earth.

Where Luke was fidgety when they made their descent on Mos Eisley, he is absolutely still now. It’s eerie, as if the air around him stopped moving, like he somehow got suspended in time. His eyes are distant and unseeing, as if he’s gone somewhere far away, only the mortal shell of his body left behind.

Din sets them down on a decrepit looking duracrete platform in the bowel of the tower. It wobbles and creaks ominously under the weight of the ship. Even as he goes through the post flight checks, all Din can really think of is that he would very much like to _not be here_.

Beside him Luke blinks back into himself and takes a deep breath. His exhale is shaky and he takes another, then another, until finally his chest heaves in even intervals. The last time Din has seen him breathe like this was on Kashyyyk. When he was in pain.

“We can leave,” Din offers carefully, but something tells him it’s in vain.

“No,” Luke says after another deep breath, and his voice is deceptively even. His hands are in his lap, motionless. “I can’t.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just gets up and moves towards the ship’s ramp. Din heaves a sigh and follows him.

The heat outside is suffocating, the thick fumes of the lava making it hard to breathe. Din really hopes that whatever planet Luke is hiding Grogu on has a temperate climate. He has had quite enough of deady hot planets for a while.

The platform they landed on is barely holding on. The bridge that used to lead to the fortress main entrance is lost completely, drowned in the lava bubbling beneath them. Din thinks about offering to leave again, but Luke is already pushing himself off the edge of the platform and taking an impossible leap to the other side. 

He lands heavy at the bottom of a wide set of stairs leading up to the entrance and starts climbing them without as much as a glance back. Din falls into a light sprint and jets after him, suddenly afraid Luke might just leave him behind. That he’ll go somewhere Din can’t follow.

He catches up to him at the top of the stairs. Once upon a time, the door shielding the fortress must have been a sight to behold, standing menacing and tall against its enemies. Now it’s crumbling away like the rest of it. The front has been blown wide apart by whoever came here before them and all they need to enter is a slightly bigger step over rubble and ash.

The room that stretches out in front of them is large, imposing, and yet somehow unremarkable. Din can see what used to be a command table, some pillars that must have proudly displayed statues or trophies of some kind. Nothing much is left of it now, pillars empty and electronics stripped for parts. Just another ruin of war.

Luke seems to have stopped to take in their surroundings as well, and Din decides it’s safe enough to focus on the thing they came for. The thing he’s good at. The thing he can control. He switches to the tracking mode of his helmet’s visor and starts scanning the area around them for any signs of recent activity. 

He finds footsteps relatively quickly, aided by the thick layer of ash that has buried every available surface around them. Most of the patterns are erratic and scattered and Din realizes quickly that they probably belong to whatever scavengers blew the door off its hinges. But there are some of them, the ones that appear to be buried the deepest, that seem to just _disappear_.

Din frowns behind the helmet and looks up to survey the room again. And it’s just that. One room. No doors. Not really what he expected of a structure of this size. There must be more to this. He turns to Luke to ask his opinion and finds him frozen at the far end of the room, staring up at the wall.

“Luke?” Din asks tentatively. Something about this place tells him to keep his voice quiet.

Luke doesn’t stir. “It’s here,” he says quietly, eyes never leaving the wall.

“What is?”

Luke doesn’t answer and instead raises his gloved hand out in front of him. The floor starts rumbling beneath their feet and Din watches in horror and fascination as the rocks part under the Jedi’s invisible touch. The disappearing footprints suddenly make a lot more sense.

He’s seen Luke move objects with his mind before, seen Grogu do it too, but the implication of whoever built this fortress using this ancient power for something as mundane as opening a door, for something done daily and without much thought, still sends a shiver down his spine.

When the wall has given way to them, he follows Luke through dark hallways, past drab oddly shaped rooms, to what appears to be private living quarters. He is surprised by how practical they are. There are the usual amenities - a desk with some chairs, a communications array in the middle of the room, some benches against the wall - but most of the room is filled with shelves upon shelves of artifacts. 

Din can spot some things he recognizes, books and electronics mostly, but others are completely foreign to him. The only thing every single item has in common is that they are all dusty with ash. Whoever used to call this room their home hasn’t been here in a long time.

Din doesn’t know what to do with any of it really - the artifacts or the darkness or Luke’s stillness. So he is left just watching the Jedi as he walks around the room, his steps careful and deliberate as if whoever used to live here is still there with them.

Luke had told him about the Sith once, on one of their sleepless nights on the Mudhorn. That they were Jedi who had fallen to the dark side. Jedi who had been consumed by fear and anger and channeled their hatred to wield the force, rather than peace and balance.

Din doesn't pretend to fully understand what that means, but now, standing in the middle of the fortress he can't deny that there is something dark here, something dreadful. 

More than anything else, he thinks with an inappropriate sense of empathy, it feels _lonely_.

Somewhere at the other end of the room, Luke takes a shuddering breath and Din snaps out of his thoughts. It sounds like he can’t quite take in enough air and worry rises uncomfortably in Din’s chest. He looks up to find the Jedi in front of a small workbench that's tucked into the corner of the room.

As he steps closer he can see that there are still parts strewn about, wires and screws left out absentmindedly, as if their owner had just quickly stepped out of the room intending to resume their work shortly. They are covered in ash like everything else. 

The only thing saved from the planet's harsh climate are the contents of the little box Luke seems to have pulled out from the back of the bench. It’s empty now, safe for a small white pendant, ordained with crackly childlike cravings.

There is a bundle of cloth in Luke’s hands, held carefully like it might crumble in his fingers if he holds on to it too hard. He unwraps the fabric gingerly to reveal a lightsaber hilt. It’s a sleek handle, a black grip in the middle with contrasting silver finishes and delicate gold accents. Unfitting for whoever inhabited this place.

“This was Ben-- My old master’s,” Luke answers Din’s unspoken question quietly. “I haven’t seen it since…” he trails off with another strained breath that sounds like it could have been the beginning of a sob. 

Din steps closer, itches to touch him but doesn’t. “Luke,” he starts slowly, careful and very aware that whatever he stepped into here is fragile. But there is something pushing in his chest, twisting, and he has to ask, has to know. 

“Who was your father?”

There is a long pause, a moment of deliberation where Luke keeps his head low, eyes focused stubbornly on the lightsaber hilt in his hands. The silence is deafening in the quiet of the room. 

“His name was Anakin Skywalker,” Luke says finally and when he turns, his eyes are distant in a way that scares Din. “But you might know him as what he became. _Darth Vader._ ”

And no, before they set foot in here he probably would not have thought of that name as anything more than someone people like Cara or Peli mentioned in passing. Someone they congratulated Luke on defeating. 

But now, in the middle of Vader’s crumbling fortress, remembering what he knows about the Sith, remembering Fennec’s unease when she wished them good luck, and remembering the things he’s seen Luke do, something clicks. 

“ _Ge'tal_ _A'den_ ,” he breathes slowly, a cold chill settling deep into his bones. 

He had thought that that was just an old tale told to scare the Foundlings into training harder. He remembers the stories intimately, from when the older kids tried to scare the younger ones. Stories of a man with a glowing red sword who could kill you with just a flick of his wrist. He remembers more than one sleepless night as he shook in fear below his covers.

Luke laughs, humorless and flat. “Is that what they called him? _The Red Wrath_? How fitting.”

“You killed him.”

“No,” Luke admits and there is something desperate in his smile. “I didn’t.”

For a second the chill in Din’s bones spreads cold and unreasonable like his childhood fears. But no, he isn’t alive. Nothing in this place is alive. No one is coming back here. The sadness in Luke’s eyes makes him more than certain of that.

“Didn’t kill the emperor either,” Luke shrugs with the same humorless laugh. “They’re all just stories.”

Luke’s hands tighten on the lightsaber hilt, the fabric of his glove straining against the resistance of the cloth it’s wrapped in. With the cold lingering in his bones, Din realizes he has a hard time reconciling his own distant fear with Luke’s obvious sorrow. He pushes the thought down and steps closer instead.

“So what is the truth?” 

Luke blinks up at him for a second, expression close to surprise, as if no one has ever asked him that. Then he huffs another laugh, his smile a fraction more sincere for a second, before his face twists again and his jaw sets.

“He used to be a Jedi,” he explains quietly, and his eyes fall back on the lightsaber in his hands. “But he got corrupted by the dark side. He became the emperor's right hand.” There is a pause where Luke seems to gather his thoughts. Din wonders if the truth he asked for might be too big and too complicated to actually put into words. 

“I grew up thinking my father had died in the clone wars. I didn’t know he was alive or who he had become until I had to face him-- until I had to face Vader in combat,” Luke continues and his eyes flutter closed, remembering. “I barely made it out of that encounter alive. After that I knew I had to face him again, I knew I had to rid the galaxy of him, of the emperor, of their evil but I--”

Luke looks up again and his eyes are dark, shrouded in the memory of something Din thinks he couldn't even comprehend if he had been there. He doesn’t look at Din, just dips his head back and takes a deep breath. He pulls the lightsaber hilt closer to his chest, absentmindedly, like a child might hold a toy for comfort.

“When I faced the emperor he wanted me to strike my father down, to take his place. To give myself to the dark side fully. And I nearly did. But in the end, I couldn’t let go of the notion that-- that there was still _good_ left in him,” his voice breaks and the pain on his face is so tangible it makes Din’s stomach turn. “When I finally found the strength to resist, the emperor tortured me instead. There was nothing I could-- I _couldn’t--_ ” 

Din feels the floor beneath them vibrate with familiar dread. His muscles tense with the need to reach out, to wrap Luke up in his arms, to unearth the dead just so he can kill them all over again. But Luke looks like he might shatter into a million pieces if Din as much as breathes, and he stays still, suspended in time.

He feels hollow.

“He stepped in,” Luke drags out of himself. It sounds painful. Final. “He _saved_ me.”

“You were right then,” Din says quietly, desperate to comfort. "There _was_ good left in him." 

“Yea,” Luke says and looks up at Din with a smile that distorts his features into a bitter, ugly mask. “And he paid for it with his life.”

 _You will never be free of your father's sins,_ Bo-Katan had said. 

But that’s not what this is. 

More than anything, Din realizes, Luke thinks of his father as another person he couldn’t save. And more death left in his wake.

Luke closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath. His exhale is shaky and he takes another, then another, until finally, his chest heaves in even intervals. He looks exhausted.

“Congratulations,” he says at last and some of his usual poise bleeds back into his posture as if he is willing himself to step past his own emotions. “You are now one of very few people in the galaxy who know the truth.”

He says it mockingly as if it was a questionable honor. And Din supposes to Luke it probably is. To share that pain, the sorrow, and death. He wonders what the people who keep congratulating him would say if they knew. If they would struggle to comprehend it as much as Din does. If they would move away. If they’d be afraid.

He reaches out and puts his hand on the small of Luke’s back. Slowly he feels the hollow feeling in his chest ebb away, soothed by the warmth under his fingertips. It doesn’t matter, he thinks. It doesn’t change the fact that here and now, with Luke warm beneath his hand he--

Luke lets out a frustrated huff and Din can feel the muscles of his back move as he tenses his shoulders. Din takes a step back immediately, suddenly afraid he overwhelmed the Jedi with his own emotions.

He doesn’t get far.

Luke reaches out and grabs him by the hip, fingers digging into the fabric of his flight suit, holding him close. There is desperate strength in his grip, but he doesn’t pull, doesn’t push, just holds. His eyes are dark, brows drawn and jaw set, and a shiver runs down Din’s spine.

"Why are you still here," Luke asks, frustration heavy in his voice. There is a storm raging behind his eyes, inner conflict that’s barely contained breaking through cracks in the Jedi’s veil of calm.

It's not a question, Din realizes. And whatever explanation he gives won't reach past Luke's doubts, won't accurately depict all the things Din wants to say, wants to give. He pulls him closer and answers anyways.

"Because you asked me to stay," he says and pushes their foreheads together while Luke holds on to him with gritted teeth. 

* * *

Luke leads them down deeper into the fortress, deeper into the bowels of the planet. Din wants nothing more than to leave this place, but it's like some invisible force is pulling the Jedi along, deeper into the depths of the earth.

The heat is oppressive, to the point where Din feels like the earth might open up at any minute to swallow them whole. The soles of his boots stick uncomfortably to the gravel beneath him, a warning not to stay here any longer than necessary, unless they want to get boiled alive.

The farther they go the more the fortress gives way to the natural structure of the planet, smooth walls morphing into rough stone. The stairs they are descending are old, crumbling not through neglect but with age. The cave they step into is vast and dark, illuminated only by the lava streams bubbling around them, and Din realizes that whatever this place was built on must have been here a long time before Vader.

As it stands before them now, there is nothing left but rubble and a single stone, propped up in its center, prominent like an altar. Its muddy yellow color sticks out against the black of the cave’s walls, the red of the lava around them reflecting on its surface in ominous swirls.

The aura of darkness and dread is even more pungent here and a strange sensation spreads through his chest when he realizes he can feel the darksaber vibrate against his hip as if it was trying to warn him. 

“What is that?” Din asks carefully, hoping against his better judgment that he doesn’t already know the answer.

“A seeing stone.”

_Dank Farrik._

Luke steps forward, mesmerized, “I’ve never actually seen one in person.”

“Careful,” Din takes Luke’s hand before he can get close enough to touch it. “Last time I saw one of these--” 

“Last time you saw one of these it brought me to you.”

Din grits his teeth behind his helmet, fear pulling at his chest. He squeezes Luke’s hand.

“Who are you hoping to find then?” 

In front of him Luke’s smile turns rueful. He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he slowly slips his hand out of Din’s grasp. Din is tempted to keep him, to pull him away, back to the ship, back to safety where it’s just the two of them. But Luke just looks at him, waiting, the tips of his fingers gliding out of Din’s palm agonizingly slow, until Din sighs and lets him go. 

“I'll be careful,” Luke says as he turns his back. Din unholsters his blaster, more to ground himself than to offer any valid form of protection.

He remembers how it started on Tython, how surprisingly mundane it was, how nothing happened for a long time, and he tries to let himself be soothed by Luke’s breathing and the bubbling of the lava around them. 

Luke reaches out his left hand and places it on the stone.

And yes, Din thinks as he steps closer, this will take a while and he could still object, could still pull Luke away now if he just takes another step--

Then the floor starts to vibrate. And the walls rattle.

And it’s nothing like Tython.

It’s instant, as if whatever power resides here had been waiting to spring its trap. A blue circle manifests around Luke, climbing higher and higher, engulfing him, just like it did Grogu.

"No," Din sprints forward, presses his hands against the barrier even though he knows it's useless, "No, _no_ , _NO_!" 

Luke’s head is whipped back, eyes open but unseeing, invisible forces pulling him up and further away as his feet lift off the ground like a puppet pulled by its strings. Din keeps pushing, _pushing_ but never reaching, never close enough to grasp as the earth rattles beneath him, determined to keep him out.

“Luke!” Din screams, even as he skids back. It does nothing, of course it does nothing and he digs his heels in to try again. He keeps pushing, pushing, _pushing_ \--

There are voices echoing off the walls now, both clear and distorted and Din is not sure if they are real or in his head alone, but they are repeating over and over and over again.

_Stop now, come back, I love you._

_I loved you._

_Stop now, come back, I love you. I loved you._

_Stop now, come back, I love you. I loved you. Stop now. I loved you. Come back. I loved you. I loved you, I love you, I loved--_

Luke screams. 

Whatever he was looking for has found him first.

In front of them the earth breaks, lava ripped out from beneath. Din has to strain his muscles to keep uptight against the shaking floor and he watches helplessly as the walls start crumbling down.

And Luke screams, and screams, pained and desperate and Din remembers Kashyyyk and how he didn't even make a sound when his skin was being torn apart by the spider’s venom. So Din pushes, keeps pushing but he can’t-- _he can’t--_

The cave keeps coming down around them, faster now, big chunks of the ceiling shattering on the ground below, and with a distant sort of horror Din realizes that that has nothing to do with the seeing stone. That destruction is all Luke.

Luke screaming and screaming and screaming.

There must be something he can do to protect him, to save him, _anything--_

He feels the weight of the silver ball in his pocket suddenly, a heavy phantom pressure, like an anchor centering him and keeping him in place. The heat of twin suns rising inside him, stark against the boiling lava at his feet. Oh.

_I think the darksaber acts like a conduit to the Force._

Din steps back, despite his urge to keep pushing, and grabs the darksaber from his hip. Now that it’s in his palm he can feel that it’s still vibrating, that it’s calling to him.

_A blade that holds this much power must be wielded with intent and purpose._

Purpose _._

_I was protecting Grogu._

Intent _._

_I’m right here._

Din ignites the darksaber and slices through the seeing stone in one clean movement.

It hisses and spits, and a sharp pain shoots through him, hot and all-encompassing. He's sure it would have made him pass out if it wasn't gone just as quickly as it came, just as quickly as the blade leaves the stone.

The unrelenting wall of blue vanishes instantly and Luke drops to the ground, strings cut.

There is something at the back of Din’s mind, flashes of green and red and a black nothingness that threatens to swallow him whole, hopeless and--

He pushes all of it aside and falls to his knees beside Luke, grabbing onto his shoulders. His body is lax in Din’s grip as he drags him up into his arms. Panic settles heavy into his chest. He can’t check his pulse with his gloves on, so he pulls him closer instead and leans down until he can see Luke’s breath fog up his visor. 

“You’re ok,” he breathes, relief washing over him, and he knows he is reassuring himself more than he is Luke. “You’re ok.”

His relief barely lasts a second. The walls are still coming down around them, the integrity of the cave completely gone at this point. Din bends further over Luke to shield him from falling debris. The lava rises behind them, their little spot on the ground shrinking with every second Luke is unconscious in his arms.

“Luke,” he shakes the Jedi’s shoulders unceremoniously, frantic, darksaber still clutched in one of his hands. Another part of the ceiling comes crashing down beside them. “Wake up, dank farrik.”

He is just about to throw Luke up over his shoulder to try and somehow make a run for it when the Jedi’s eyes finally flutter open. Din lets out a shaky breath.

“Din,” his name is weak on Luke’s lips but clear, his eyes already focusing. 

“You’re ok. I’m here,” Din reassures him quickly but already starts pulling Luke’s arm over his shoulder to hoist him up. They need to get out of here _now_.

Through some miracle, Luke’s legs only skid across the floor for a second before he finds his footing, shaky as it may be. Din hauls them forward towards the already crumbling stairs, sprinting as much as he can manage with Luke heavy at his side. 

Luke’s holding on remarkably well for someone who was unconscious half a minute ago, but it’s still a long way out of the fortress and when they finally drag themselves back to the ship the chasm between the entrance and the landing platform has more than doubled.

The lava is rising steady, whatever hell Luke set free below them pushing to the surface to swallow them whole. The landing platform is barely holding on, already weak support beams breaking away under the weight of the falling rubble and Din can practically see the ship slipping away into the lava.

Beside him, Luke straightens with a grunt and takes a step away from Din to raise his hand towards the platform. He sways, lips pressed together, pale and exhausted, but he keeps his hand stretched out in front of him. Din wonders if he’s attempting to stabilize the platform but then the lava bubbles and hisses as if Luke is trying to push it back, to keep it at bay and--

The lava. He is trying to push back the _lava_.

_Kriffin’ idiot._

“Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?” Din shouts, anger suddenly hot in his chest.

Luke doesn’t answer, just sets his jaw and pushes harder. Din fires up his jetpack and steps between him and the chasm.

"Hold on to me," Din barks more than says, a clear command and for a second Luke looks at him confused. 

"What--" he starts, voice pressed and Din sees his own anger mirrored in Luke’s eyes, clearly unhappy that Din is foiling his attempt to save them. 

Din just steps closer and urges him with an outstretched hand. Luke finally catches on, but his confusion just shifts into skepticism. 

"I don't think--"

Din doesn’t wait for him to finish his argument. He steps closer and pulls Luke flush against him with an arm around his hip. 

"Hands around my neck, now," Din commands and after another agonizing second of hesitation, Luke finally gets with the program.

Din whips them around as soon as Luke puts his arms firmly around his neck. He judges the distance again, calculates their weight and the repulsion the jetpack will grant them, and very quickly realizes he will have to get a running start to make that jump. 

Luke comes to the same conclusion.

“I can--”

“ _No_.”

Din moves his arm up from Luke’s hip to his shoulders and bends down to push his free hand under his knees and hoist him up into his arms. The Jedi’s eyes go wide but he doesn’t protest, just pulls his arms closer around Din’s neck, fingers clinging to the fabric of his cape with surprising strength.

Din runs. 

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at the same time, the jetpack struggling against their weight, while the lava rises impossibly faster, but somehow they make it, their fall broken by the Force and Luke’s inability to accept help.

They breathe heavy for a second, both somewhat struggling to comprehend what just happened until Din remembers the lava and yanks Luke up by the front of his shirt and back onto the ship.

They storm into the cockpit, both working in unison to get the ship off the ground, and finally, they are in the air, safe as the tower crumbles behind them. 

Din slumps back into his seat and just breathes, something giddy bubbling up in his chest, hysterical. He looks over to find Luke equally exhausted in his chair, exhausted but _alive_ , and when they exchange a glance Din can’t hold the feeling back any longer. He barks out a laugh.

Luke blinks up at him for a second, startled, and then it’s ripped out of him too, a frantic laugh, desperate and unfiltered. They laugh until all the air has left their lungs and Din reaches over to link their fingers together on top of Luke’s armrest.

It's messy, quite literally, Din's dirty gloves smearing soot and ash over Luke's skin, but neither of them really seems to care, Luke too tired and Din too desperate to reassure himself they're ok. 

He doesn’t pull or even as much as squeeze, just sits there and lets Luke’s warmth wash over him, lets it calm the last strands of fear still clinging onto his chest.

Beside him Luke’s eyes slowly flutter closed, exhaustion finally winning out over the adrenalin in his veins. “Yavin 4,” he mumbles, straining to stay awake, even as his eyes close. “That’s where we’re going next. Yavin 4.”

That’s where Grogu is, Din thinks, and the giddy feeling bubbles up once more. 

“Okay,” he affirms needlessly and Luke’s hand slips out of his as his body goes lax with sleep. Din moves to gather him up in his arms as he did barely ten minutes ago. It’s much gentler now. “I’ll get us there.”

He carries Luke out to the benches in the common area, gently placing him on the worn-out padding, and retrieves his blanket from the captain's quarters to wrap him uptight.

“Sleep,” Din says quietly and pushes Luke’s hair off his forehead, a casual gesture, like an afterthought. “I’ll get us there.”

* * *

When Din checks back on Luke two hours later, he finds him sitting on the floor in front of the benches, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, tinkering with Din’s jetpack.

For a moment Din is torn between the surge of worry he feels at the fact that Luke isn’t resting and the uneasy feeling that rises up in his chest at watching someone touch his armor. In the end, his curiosity wins out and he just watches, mesmerized.

When Luke senses him, he looks up and has the decency to look at least a bit sheepish.

"I noticed it wasn't balanced right," he says as a way of apology. "I thought I might be able to fix that." 

Din takes that in for a second - Luke working on his armor, his most sacred possession, a part of him. How his hands are so gentle, so soft like he truly understands the significance. How he sits there with Din’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders, despite the moderate warmth of the ship. 

Warmth spreads in Din’s stomach at the sight, up through his chest, engulfing him whole, unbidden, and out of his control. He doesn’t know what to do with it. There is a flurry of emotions swirling inside him, too big for him to grasp and so he just stands still and lets them wash over him like the waves of a raging sea.

He remembers the same feeling from back when he took his helmet off in front of Luke in the hold, all those nights ago. When Luke had told him that he had never seen so much love, as when Din and Grogu looked at each other on Gideon's ship.

"Is there anything you’re not good at?" he asks before his emotions can betray him, before he is truly able to grasp them himself. He expects a snarky remark or a cryptic explanation, but instead, Luke’s eyes glaze over, distant.

"There are many things I'm not good at," he says quietly and Din believes him.

* * *

Din expects the exhaustion to catch up to Luke. He really does. The way to Yavin 4 is long and it’s only a matter of time. But when the ship lurches forward in hyperspace, pushed around by vibrating walls, he still feels his heart jump into his throat.

He is halfway up the ramp to the common area when it dawns on him that this is different.

The air around the ship is pungent somehow, and dark and suffocating. There is a feeling of real danger here and Din feels the darksaber vibrating against his hip. He skids through the door to find Luke standing frozen in the middle of the room, lightsaber drawn. 

He is wide awake. And the room is empty.

But oh, there is something dangerous here, and Din can feel it settle deep within his bones.

The blade is flickering blue instead of green and at a second glance Din recognizes it as the sword of Luke’s old master, the one they salvaged on Mustafar. _When I die, it will be buried with me,_ Luke had said about his own lightsaber and the implication sends a shiver down Din’s spine.

“Luke?”

He doesn’t react, just keeps staring blindly through Din at something he can’t see. His eyes are wide, dark like an abyss, and terrifying in a way Din has never seen them before.

“Luke,” Din tries again, softer now. He takes a careful step towards him, very aware of how fast the Jedi is with his blade. He raises his hands slightly, away from his own weapons.

Luke’s hand tightens around the hilt of his lightsaber and Din takes another step forward.

“ _Luke_.”

The Jedi’s brows draw then and he blinks confused, eyes snapping up to Din’s visor as if he only now noticed him stepping into the room. He looks down at his lightsaber next, then back up at Din’s raised hands, his bowed head, and defensive position.

“Din?” Luke asks, voice quiet and uncertain like he’s unsure if Din is actually in the room with him. If any of this is actually real.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” Din assures him, already moving closer. “I’m right here.”

Luke takes a shaky breath, his gaze darting around the room unsure, but he finally shuts off the lightsaber. He looks so lost, as if he isn’t sure how he got here, or if his demons followed him. There is darkness here still, radiating off him in waves. It’s not his and yet--

Din crosses the last few steps to Luke and wraps him up in his arms, pulling him close.

“ _Din_ ,” Luke says again and it sounds exhausted now, voice trembling. His arms come up around his back, clinging to his cape and holding on for dear life.

Din wonders if whatever found Luke on Mustafar might have followed him here and he wraps him up closer in some vain hope that the beskar will shield him like it does Din.

“I’m here,” he promises again and pulls Luke's head into the crook of his neck, between his helmet and the vambrace on his arm. “It’s ok, I’m right here.”

Din thinks of warm sand under his feet and the heat of twin rising suns and he keeps holding on tight until Luke finally stops trembling in his arms.

* * *

When Luke takes off the glove in front of Din for the first time, it’s strangely casual, mundane even. They are halfway to Yavin 4 as he sits down opposite Din on the common room table and spreads out a set of precision tools in front of him. He strips the glove off with practiced efficiency and Din startles for a second, having already forgotten that Luke was wearing it in the first place.

Din puts down the blaster he had been cleaning and tilts his head curiously, spurred on by Luke’s casual demeanor. The curiosity is replaced by a surge of unease when Luke pulls away synthetic skin from his palm.

_What the--_

Din had expected it to be an injury of some sort. The single glove just seemed like quite a drastic protective measure for someone who refused to wear armor. He didn’t expect it to be a whole missing limb. A prosthetic made out of wires and metal like--

Luke senses his unease instantly and looks up to give him a small reassuring smile. “The rest of me is real, promise.”

And yes ok, Din knows that. He’s felt Luke’s body against his, his skin warm and real. Still. Din sighs.

“How much--” he starts to ask, curiosity getting the better of him, but he stops himself suddenly worried he’s being insensitive, that he’s crossing some line. 

“Just my hand, up until the wrist,” Luke answers casually, looking back down to take one of the tools and get to work. Then he adds, as if it was just an afterthought, “Vader cut it off.”

Din freezes. He just stares at him for a while until he can get his voice to work again.

“Vader… your _father_ cut it off.”

Din remembers Luke’s sorrow about his father's death and once again has a very hard time reconciling that with anything he knows about the man, or with the chill in his bones.

Luke senses that, too.

“It’s complicated,” he says quietly and looks away. He fiddles with his hand in silence for a while, leaving Din to attempt to sort through his own tangled emotions. When he looks up again his expression is slightly sheepish. 

“One of the joints keeps locking up,” he hesitantly moves his hand towards Din across the table, palm up. “It’s a weird angle for me to work on it. Would you mind?”

Din stares at the hand in front of him for a second, then sighs. Some part of him is weirdly hurt by the fact that Luke seems to assume he would refuse to help him, but he's also not surprised. 

“Of course I don’t mind,” he says for good measure and he doesn’t miss Luke’s relieved exhale, no matter how much the Jedi is trying to hide it by looking away.

Din pushes his disassembled blaster to the side and takes off his gloves so he can gently take Luke’s prosthetic hand in his. It’s a strange feeling, lighter than he expected, the synthetic skin quickly warmed by his touch. 

The work in front of him is easy enough, just a joint in need of readjustment so it will align back with the rest of the carbon skeleton. He pulls the tools towards him and gets to work.

“Explain it to me,” Din asks gently, as he tightens his hold on Luke’s wrist to keep him steady. He doesn’t mean the mechanics of the prosthetic and Luke knows it.

For a while the Jedi seems to debate with himself, to gather his thoughts as he did on Mustafar. Din isn’t sure if that is due to the complexity of the story or the complexity of the emotions involved.

"Everyone tells me to hate him for the things he did but I-- it was never that simple for me," Luke sighs finally and leans forward slightly, his free hand moving towards his wrist on instinct before he can think better of it. He grabs onto his shoulder instead and Din tightens his grip on Luke’s hand to balance out the movement. 

"He was never just Vader for me,” Luke continues. “Vader I hated. Vader I was ready to kill. But then Vader turned out to be Anakin Skywalker. My father. The man I had conjured up in my mind since I was a little child. The person I wanted to be like when I grew up.”

His eyes glaze over dark and distant. The next part is quieter as if he doesn’t want to admit it. “The person that I fantasized would come and save me, whenever I was scared for my life."

“Like the time you had to face Vader,” Din realizes and immediately regrets saying it out loud. Luke just smiles and tightens the grip on his shoulder. Din ducks his head again and resumes his work.

“He was a horrible person, vile and twisted,” Luke admits, quietly and there is sorrow in his voice but also something else, something warmer. “But beyond that, he was the man Ben loved so much that he gave his life protecting his son. And the man that loved my mother so much he went against the Jedi Order to be with her.”

Din hesitates for a second, aware he’s overstepping but--

“And he was the man that loved you so much he gave his life protecting you."

“Yea,” Luke’s fingers twitch in Din’s grip and he huffs a humorless laugh. “And that too.”

Din tightens the last screw and slowly closes the synthetic skin back over Luke’s palm so he can try to check its mobility unencumbered. “How’s that?”

Luke flexes his fingers, hand still loosely in Din’s grip. The joints of the prosthetic move smoothly once more and Luke looks up with a smile that somehow holds a lot more emotions than simple gratitude.

“A lot better.”

Din tightens his hold on Luke’s wrist when the Jedi tries to pull his hand away.

“We have a saying in Mando’a,” he says slowly. “ _Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la_ \- It doesn't matter who your father was, only what father you will be."

"But it does matter,” Luke says too quickly and there is a nearly angry lilt to his voice. He catches himself and looks away with a long exhale, clearly willing his emotions back into their place. When he speaks again it’s much gentler. “It matters to me."

Din tilts his helmet at him, slightly lost and Luke sighs. 

"I need to hold on to the notion that there is good in everyone, even in the vilest of creatures," he says and looks up again, fixing his eyes on Din’s visor head-on. There is something determined in his eyes, something desperate. "That you can come back from doing terrible things, that you can choose to make it right. That you can heal."

His voice becomes thin, strained, and Din is acutely aware of the fact that they are not talking about Vader anymore. "I need to hold on to that. There is nothing else. I don't have anything else that keeps me from--"

Luke goes quiet suddenly, and Din thinks that if he wasn’t holding onto the Jedi’s hand so tightly he would have probably put it over his mouth to keep his emotions from spilling out over his lips.

Luke thinks of himself as many things, Din reminds himself, but _hero_ is not one of them.

He waits while Luke takes a deep breath. His exhale is shaky and he takes another, then another, until finally, his chest heaves in even intervals. 

"Okay," Din says then, quiet and simple because he figures he doesn’t have to fully understand any of this to respect that it’s important to Luke.

He pulls Luke’s prosthetic up to his helmet, places a faceless kiss against his palm, and repeats his promise, cold beskar against synthetic skin.

“I’m right here.”

* * *

After Din stops holding himself back from getting closer to the Jedi, he starts to worry about him instead. Small observations that settle heavy in his mind, unbidden.

Every time he sees Luke’s yellow jacket abandoned up in the cockpit he is reminded of the fact that he’s not wearing armor, that no armor could shield him from whatever is tearing at his mind. And when he finds the Jedi just staring into space he feels helpless about the fact that all he can do is to quietly walk up behind him and wait until the tension breaks and he snaps back out from wherever he went.

When Luke starts forgetting to make tea with rolled-up sleeves, Din takes over for him, his hands sure from weeks of watching the Jedi work and he continues to quietly pour two cups, but the second one cools on the stove as he makes sure that Luke actually drinks his.

He still pushes down the urge to put his palms to smooth skin, but now it’s for fear he will overwhelm Luke if he gets any closer. 

More often than not he feels a deep unease settle into his stomach when he watches the Jedi’s eyes go distant, filled with a mixture of resolve and something dark Din isn’t able to interpret at all.

On rare occasions, Din lets his hand brush Luke's shoulder on purpose, just so he can feel the heat radiating off him, desperate to ground himself in space. 

Every second they spend alone on the ship makes him hope his armor will be sharp enough to protect them from whatever is about to come.

* * *

Din jolts awake to the alarm blaring through the ship. He shoots up and grabs his helmet on instinct before he even consciously registers what's going on.

The control panel above his bed flashes violently, indicating a breach in the hold. 

There are no enemy ships or foreign objects on the radar, which means the leak is probably just the result of some damage they took on Mustafar, but for some reason, the oxygen levels are dropping throughout the whole ship. That shouldn't happen. 

In a ship this size, there are blast doors that seal off any compartment that might be compromised, so if the leak is in the hold the door should have closed to preserve the oxygen in the rest of the ship. The ship still seems to be pressurized enough that they don’t run any risk of being torn apart by the vacuum of space, and the captain’s quarter and the cockpit have individual oxygen supplies, so he will be fine either way, but--

Luke.

Din bolts out of bed immediately. The door gives a faint warning to alert him to the possibility of his demise should he stay without oxygen for too long and he hits the controls harder. When they finally open he nearly forgets to take in a last gulp of air.

He finds Luke on all fours in the middle of the ramp, barely conscious. He skids down and hauls him up into the common room, somehow managing to smash the door controls with his elbow in passing. The blast doors to the upper deck close with an audible hiss as the room fully pressurizes. After a few agonizing seconds, the oxygen levels stabilize and the alarms finally fizzle out.

Din lets himself sink to the floor, taking Luke with him, and for a moment they both just lie there, trying to regain their breath.

"What the _kriff_ happened," Din rasps breathlessly. He turns his head to look at Luke and only now takes in the fact that he is wearing his training getup of nothing but his pants and undershirt. His lightsaber is clutched tightly in his gloved hand.

"Hull breach," Luke says, equally out of breath and doesn’t even lift his head to look at him. "Blast doors shut-- while I was training. Had to-- to cut through them.” 

He has to take a pause to draw more air into his lungs before he continues, “Suppose that didn't register as an open door so the others didn't shut as backup. Sorry."

"You just...cut through the door with your lightsaber?"

"Yea."

"How long did that take?"

"Couple minutes?"

" _Kriffin’ hell_."

Luke just shrugs. “Meditation comes with a lot of breathing exercises.”

Din rolls his eyes behind his helmet and gets up to get him a sweater.

* * *

After Din bullies Luke into putting on the sweater Cara had made him buy for cold nights on the ship, they huddle over the command table to check what repairs need to be done. The fabric hangs loosely over Luke’s shoulders, sleeves too long and slipping down until they are at his fingertips. Din knows the oversized fit is mostly due to the fact that Cara very much misjudged Din's size, but seeing the Jedi wear his clothes still does something with Din’s heart he chooses not to examine too closely.

He shifts his focus back on checking the ship. The hull definitely needs to be patched, but with the upper deck sealed the rest of the ship seems stable enough. They could land somewhere now to try and get the repairs done, but in the end, they decide against it, given that they are barely a night out from reaching Yavin 4.

"I'll stay here, monitor the ship," Luke offers while stifling a yawn.

"Absolutely not." 

Luke looks up at him in surprise and Din can’t believe he has to argue about this. "You are barely awake, if you fall asleep and the oxygen levels drop again you're dead."

"I'll stay in the cockpit then--"

"No,” Din puts his hands on his hips for emphasis. He’s not losing this ridiculous argument. “You're staying in the captain's quarters with me. And you’ll sleep. In a bed. With a separate oxygen supply."

Luke looks ready to argue for a second, but whatever emotions he feels coming off Din make him stop. He looks exhausted again and Din wishes, not for the first time, that he could grasp what inner fight Luke has with himself whenever Din offers even a shred of kindness.

In the end, Luke just crosses his arms with a deep sigh and nods his head once.

"Alright."

* * *

It’s awkward.

Din isn’t sure why he expected something different, or if he even did, but lying together in Din’s bed, without the stars or Tusken to keep them company, is _awkward_.

They are not even touching, the bed somehow broad enough for them to lie on their backs beside each other, with their hands kept firmly to themselves, resting on their stomachs with laced fingers. Din even managed to find a second set of sheets. But there is still tension there, heavy in the air like their deceptively even breathing.

Part of it is the helmet, Din realizes. He only now really thinks about the fact that this is just the second time Luke has seen him without his armor. There is something different about wearing it here, in the one place dedicated to being able to take it off. Luke seems to sense it too.

“I can get the blindfold from--” Luke starts, voice loud in the quiet, but stops himself when he realizes that accessing the hold is impossible. “Right.” 

Silence stretches between them again and Din can hear Luke fidgeting with the edges of the blanket. It’s nearly pitch black in the room, shutters closed against the relentless blue of hyperspace, the only source of light a tiny red blinking light indicating the location of the control panel above them.

It’s funny somehow, Din thinks. How Luke seems to be more mindful of his boundaries than even Din himself. How he is more mindful than Boba or Bo-Katan, or really any of the Mandalorians he has met in the last months. How even the Armorer was quick to find a workaround for his broken creed.

It’s funny how it’s Luke, lying here beside him now, in the dark, the only one besides Grogu who has ever truly seen his face, and who’s and still offers respect, without any incentive. It's funny how it's Luke, the one person he keeps wanting to take his helmet off for. Din can’t help but huff out a laugh. 

“It’s fine,” he says, as so many times before, and finds that he truly means it. “I trust you.”

“A terrible decision really,” Luke says but Din thinks he can hear a smile in his voice.

So far he is inclined to disagree. And he has a feeling that won’t change.

With a deep, calming breath Din reaches up and takes off his helmet.

It’s less overwhelming this time, calmer in the dark, surrounded by soft sheets instead of cold metal and bright lights. When he places it on the desk beside the bed his hands still shake slightly, but something tells him that has less to do with him pushing the boundaries of his creed, and more with how he hears Luke’s breath hitch beside him. 

“Alright?” Luke asks when he settles back down on the bed. His voice is achingly soft, gentle in a way that makes Din long to reach out to him.

“Yea,” he says after another deep breath and pulls his blanket higher up his chest. “Yea I think I am.”

He can feel Luke take a deep breath too and suddenly remembers their conversation the first time he took off the helmet and Luke's reaction when they sparred, when Din had him pinned down warm and heavy beneath him. “Are you?”

“Me?”

“You said it’s different when I’m not wearing beskar,” Din tries to explain, still a bit muddy on the whole concept. “The way you see me. With the Force.”

“Oh,” Luke sounds genuinely surprised Din would even consider that. But now there is definitely a smile in his voice when he continues. “Yea, it’s a bit--” he laughs quietly, unable to find the right word. There is a short pause and a deep exhale and then, quiet and soft, “Yea, I think I’m ok too.” 

They fall into silence again, but it’s calmer now, tension soothed if not gone completely. It has a strange dream-like feel to it, lying in the dark like this, and Din is reminded of the first time they stood together in the hold, when Luke smiled at him in a way that made him feel like they were the last two people in the galaxy. The memory is blurry, like it happened a lifetime ago.

"How long has it been since you've slept beside someone like this," Luke asks in the dark, tentatively. He seems unsure of himself somehow, small.

"Tatooine, at the farm," Din deadpans. He knows that's not what Luke means but it earns him a small laugh and that's enough.

"No, I mean--"

Without your armor.

"I know what you mean," Din says gently and sighs. "A very long time."

Never is probably more accurate. Not since he put it on anyway.

"Me too," Luke says and Din turns to him in surprise. 

He is no stranger to war and violence and how fear and adrenaline can be a hell of an aphrodisiac when you are stuck in the trenches, hopeless and cold. And Luke has seen enough war to last him several lifetimes. 

"I tried," Luke says with a laugh, sensing his confusion. "But I had no training back then. And with the Force it’s... I didn't know how to keep it in. How to turn it off. They thought they found a quick hook up and instead they got a scared kid rummaging around in their head." Luke sighs deeply, "And then eventually, after the Death Star, after Vader, well ..."

 _You became untouchable_ , Din fills in silently. A myth, eerie and unstable.

“And the no attachment thing did not help either,” Luke adds jokingly and Din can feel the mattress dip in what he assumes is a shrug. 

“A different kind of armor,” Din says quietly and Luke laughs.

“Yea. A different kind.”

Din leans into the sound of Luke’s laughter, subconsciously and it’s just his head at first, but then he hears Luke rustle against the sheets too and the mattress dips further and suddenly they are closer, so much closer, facing each other with mingling breaths.

Din’s heart is racing in a way it doesn’t even in a fight.

“Can I--,” Din starts, but Luke already finds his hand in the dark and laces their fingers together. 

Luke sighs then, deep and relieved like it’s the first time he’s been able to breathe in a long time. His breath is warm against the stubble on Din’s cheeks. 

They just lie there for a moment, adjusting to the unfamiliar intimacy, palm against palm, with the tips of their noses nearly touching.

“Tell me about the creed,” Luke asks quietly, pulling Din’s hand closer to his face until his lips brush against the back of Din’s hand. Din forgets how to breathe for a second and Luke waits patiently, gently squeezing his hand until he remembers. 

There is something different here, in this dreamlike state of darkness and soft sheets, like someone pressed pause on their worries, like Luke is allowing the conflict in his mind to rest, just for a little while. 

“I want to hear your voice,” Luke says, as if Din needed convincing, as if he wouldn’t pull the stars out of the sky for Luke and offer them up in his palm. His voice is already heavy with sleep and Din can feel him settle deeper into the mattress. “I really like your voice.”

And so Din tells him about the creed and his armor and the time Paz missed a step and fell down the Razor Crest’s ramp. He talks and talks, until Luke’s breath is soft and even beside him, lulled to sleep by exhaustion and the deep timbre of his voice.

* * *

It’s dark here, cold in a way that space never is, that nothing ever is, cold in a way that’s all-encompassing, dark, empty nothingness, overwhelming in its none existence, and then red and green, light cutting through the void, hot and searing and it just dips everything darker, colors it hopeless with anger and pain and hate and the nothingness just expands, searing and cold and empty and all-encompassing and--

Din blinks awake, disoriented, and dizzy.

There is a familiar dread pooling in his stomach, head spinning with images that make no sense to him. He can feel the frame of the bed shake with how violently the walls of the ship vibrate. 

Beside him, Luke’s breathing is ragged, frantic.

“Luke,” Din calls out to him, voice still rough with sleep. He gets no answer and reaches out with his hands instead, aimless until he finds his shoulders in the dark. 

Luke is shaking beneath his hands, body shifting under the sheets, his muscles tensing on instinct, trying to fight against whatever is tearing at his mind. He’s still asleep.

“Luke,” Din tries again, this time firmer. He pulls him closer, hooks his ankles over Luke’s so he won’t hurt himself by kicking the wall. “You’re dreaming. It’s just a dream.”

Luke just kicks harder beneath him, so Din lets go of his shoulder to take his face into his hands instead. Somewhere distant at the back of his mind he is aware of how overwhelming the sensation of holding him like this is, of how real and right it feels, but the thought is gone quickly, overruled by his desire to help Luke snap out of whatever he’s trapped in. 

He doesn’t really know what to do, how to pull him back, but even after all these years he still remembers the way his mother comforted him whenever he was scared, so he decides to start there.

With steady hands, Din pulls Luke closer and presses his lips to his forehead, once, twice, and then a third time, lingering for a second before he ducks down and pushes their foreheads together instead. 

Luke jolts awake with a sharp intake of breath. 

“You’re ok. It was just a dream,” Din tries to reassure him immediately, moving away slightly to give him space to breathe. 

Luke grabs onto his hips with frantic uncoordinated movements, keeping him in place. 

His breath is still unsteady, shaky, and scared and Din pulls him closer against his chest, wraps him up tight into his arms until they are flush against each other, and Luke’s hands come up to his back, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke rasps, voice distorted and nearly inaudible by how his face is pressed in Din’s chest. “I’m so sorry.”

"It’s ok. You’re ok," Din reassures him again, unsure what he’s apologizing for, but determined to keep him close regardless. He places a soft kiss on the top of Luke’s head and pulls his blanket back over them. “I’m right here.” 

Luke tries to take a deep breath, but his exhale is shaky and he takes another, then another, then another, and Din holds him steady, humming the lullaby over the sound of his own frantically beating heart, until they finally drift back to sleep, chests heaving in even intervals.

When Din wakes in the morning to the telltale rattling of the ship passing through atmo, the bed is empty and cold beside him once more.

* * *

Yavin 4 is green, very very green. It’s a relief. And strangely fitting.

Din joins Luke in the cockpit just as he sets them down in front of an ancient-looking stone structure. The Jedi looks tired, the dark circles under his eyes too prominent now to ignore, but his hands are steady on the controls and Din can’t bring himself to drag up whatever horrors Luke went through at night. So he says nothing and just sits down to quietly help him with the last post-flight checks, making sure the damaged ship is correctly depressurized. 

Even after they are done and the hum of the ship is dying down, Din realizes that he is somewhat reluctant to leave. He’s waited for this moment for so many months and now that it’s here all the emotions bubble back up again, all his fears and doubts, and the guilt he feels at leaving Grogu behind in the first place.

It takes him a minute to notice that Luke is sitting still beside him too, waiting on Din to make the first move. Din can’t help but huff out a laugh.

“I’m nervous,” he admits because it’s the truth and there really isn’t any reason not to say it out loud.

“I know,” Luke says with a small smile, and yea, yea of course he does. “There is nothing to be nervous about,” he adds, and then, with a smile that truly reaches his eyes, “He missed you.”

Something in Din’s chest tightens, then releases, and tightens again in an entirely different way.

“Okay,” he nods with a long exhale and slowly rises to his feet. “Okay.”

When they disembark the ship Luke leads them around to the front first to check the damage to the hull and Din is grateful for the distraction. Some of the paint is chipped off on the right side of the ship, the outer shell clearly scratched and damaged from Mustafar’s falling debris, but the actual breach is small. Din sighs in relief. He does not like the thought of them being sitting ducks. But this should be easy enough to fix.

With that worry off his mind, he takes a second to actually look around. The structure the ship is parked in front of opens up into an old mostly abandoned-looking aircraft hangar. There are only a handful of ships parked there, most of them civilian crafts. Right at the back, he spots Luke’s X-wing. 

“This used to be a rebel base,” Luke explains at Din’s pause. “We launched the attack on the Death Star from this very hangar. Later, after the war, some of us settled down here.”

“Like the people you left him with?”

“Yes,” Luke nods and starts leading them towards a small path away from the hangar, “They settled here to raise their own son and I thought--”

Whatever Luke wanted to say is cut off by the frantic beeping of a small astromech droid that's whizzing towards them. 

Din has no idea where it actually came from and it pops up in front of them so suddenly that he reaches for his blaster on instinct before he recognizes it as the blue-white R2 unit Luke had with him on Gideon’s ship.

“Artoo,” Luke looks surprised for a second but immediately bends down to place his hands on each side of the astromech’s dome. His face is a strange mixture of guilt and relief. 

The droid lets out a series of agitated beeps and Luke nods along patiently. “Yes, yes I know,” he says quietly, and there is definitely guilt in his voice now. “It wasn’t ok for me to just leave.”

There is another cascade of beeps, louder now and decidedly angrier and Luke sighs. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry Artoo.”

Din doesn’t understand much droidspeak but that sounded like a string of insults. Luke looks downright miserable and Din feels a sudden rush of protectiveness rise in his chest.

“Hey, that’s enough,” he steps in, wagging a finger at the droid as he would with Grogu when he’s being particularly stubborn. 

Both Luke and the astromech freeze on the spot. 

For a tense beat of silence, Luke blinks up at him like he just grew another head.

Then the droid launches into a series of angry beeps and whistles, while Luke bursts out into laughter.

“What?” Din bites out, not exactly fond of being made fun of by a heap of metal. “What did he say?”

Luke has to take a second to regain his breath. “He says he can’t believe I replaced him with another… metal friend.”

Another round of animated beeps follows, accompanied by what Din can only imagine is a very offensive wiggle.

“You’re paraphrasing that, aren’t you?”

“Yes, very much.”

Din sighs and rolls his eyes behind his helmet.

Luke just laughs harder.

* * *

The woman from Luke’s holo transmissions meets them in front of a broad single-story bungalow, not ten minutes walk from the hangar. It’s one of a handful of similar houses tucked into a small clearing, surrounded by lush green forest.

On the short walk there the astromech droid aggressively bumps into Din no less than four times. Din thinks about picking it up so he can chuck it off a cliff, but every time he stumbles Luke bites back a grin that makes him look just a little less tired, just a little lighter and so Din quietly resigns himself to his shins hurting for the rest of the day.

“Commander Skywalker,” the woman greets with a wide-open smile and pats the astromech’s wiggling head. “I can see you’ve already met your welcome party.”

Her long brown hair is pulled back into a loose messy ponytail and Din can spot some food stains prominent on the collar of her shirt. There is a casual aura radiating off her, but Din can sense something simmering below that, a withered strength brought on by the trials of war.

“Lieutenant,” Luke returns her smile, and Din is surprised to see how genuine it is, how little he is hiding behind any of his many angles. “I told you to call me Luke.”

“Sure, Commander,” she says with a laugh. “Will do.”

Luke sighs, but it’s more amused than frustrated. “This is Lieutenant Shara Bey,” Luke introduced her to Din. “She and her husband Kes Dameron have been looking after Grogu in my absence.”

“My son Poe helped too,” she says with a wink and then adds after a series of beeps from the astromech, “And Artoo of course.”

“Thank you,” Din says and truly means it, even if he makes a point of ignoring the droid.

“Shara, this is Grogu’s father,” Luke finishes his introduction with a small touch to Din’s shoulder. 

His stomach does a strange little flip at Luke calling him Grogu’s father, not just at the implication of someone actually saying it out loud, but also because the phrase means that Luke decided to keep his name for himself, instead of giving it away. Unspoken respect, like Luke has shown him so many times before, and yet Din keeps being surprised by it.

Shara’s laugh snaps him out of his thoughts. “Oh I know who he is,” she says, her tone a tad accusatory. For a second Din worries he forgot a past bounty on her or her husband's head, but there is mirth shining in her eyes. “I have his shiny face plastered all over my kitchen, the kid won’t draw anything else.”

And-- _oh_.

“He--,” Din has to clear his throat. “He draws me?”

“Non-stop,” she laughs and nods at Luke. “Him too.”

“He does?” Luke asks beside him and his voice is just as surprised as Din’s, probably more. When Din looks over Luke’s eyes are impossibly fragile and he has to clench his fists to keep from reaching out to him.

He takes a deep steadying breath.

“Can we see him?” 

Shara laughs and nods.

* * *

There is a meadow behind the house, surrounded by rolling hills and a lush forest. It’s a place of peace and tranquility. It’s a clear day, but somehow still the smell of fresh rain creeps under the edge of his helmet as he spots a small green child sat beneath a small tree.

Grogu doesn’t notice them yet and Din barely registers the other boy beside him, or how he shoots up and bolts back towards the house as his mother calls out for him to give them some privacy.

It’s like his whole world zoomed in on Grogu, small and real, sat beneath the tree, like there is nothing else left around them, just him and his son. _His son_.

“Grogu?” Din says softly and for a brief moment he’s terrified he won’t remember, won’t recognize him, but then his head turns and big eyes become even bigger and they are both moving in an instant until finally, _finally,_ Din can scoop him up in his arms.

“Hey kid,” he says as he pulls him close and thinks that he’s probably never been as relieved in his life as he is now, hearing Grogu’s happy coos. “I missed you too, buddy.”

Grogu’s hands reach up to his helmet immediately and he can’t help the small laugh that escapes his lips, spurred on by the giddiness in his chest. He shifts Grogu’s weight and grabs the edge of his helmet to pull it off.

He hesitates for just a moment because it’s a habit still, to look up around him to check if he’s alone, and it’s only that habit that makes him catch how Luke turns back towards the house to give them privacy too. 

_Is he not a father to your Foundling as you are?_

“Luke,” he calls out, with the Armorer’s words clear in his mind and Grogu’s curious coos in his arms. 

When Luke stops and turns to them Din thinks that, for the first time since they met, he can see something akin to hope in his eyes. And he knows he’s never been as sure of anything, as he is sure of what he’s about to say next. 

“Stay.”

Before Luke can say anything to protest, Din pulls off his helmet. 

It’s bright and overwhelming and his heart is racing in his chest and none of it matters because Grogu coos in his arms, content and happy and reaches up to put his hands on Din’s face.

None of it matters because Luke crosses the distance to them in quick urgent strides until he is right in front of them, the tips of their boots touching, and Din can reach out to wrap his arm around Luke’s hips to pull him closer.

None of it matters because Luke looks at him and Din can see his own relief mirrored in the Jedi’s eyes and he thinks that finally, _finally,_ he caught him just at the right angle.

“It’s ok, I’m right here,” he promises as he leans his forehead against Luke's and he pulls them both closer to his chest and doesn’t hold back the tears that well and roll down his cheeks.

“We’re home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain, at 2am: _did u notice how u wrote Luke with tears in his eyes multiple times but then he never actually allows himself the relief of crying, which represents how he does not allow himself to move past his trauma because he still feels guilty for all the horrible things that happened, also do you--_  
>  Me, high on antibiotics and painkillers, just trying to sleep: _can we fucking not_
> 
> Anyways - I hope the Yavin scenes broke some of the tension bc oh boiii it's getting tense! I was a bit nervous about this chapter bc I realized I don't actually have a reference for how either of them would do romance™, so I apologize if some of the scenes have an ooc vibe but we are on uncharted waters now and I’m hinging Din's whole romance persona on "himbo protec" lmao
> 
> As always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments and kudos, they keep me going and allow me to enjoy my own story as if I was reading it for the first time. I'm so sorry I don't get around to actually answer, but I'll try my best to rectify at least some of that now!
> 
> I modified Vader’s fortress from canon btw, bc it’s wild and I do not have the patience to describe all _that_ , but if you wanna know what it actually looks like have a look at [this tumblr post](https://gffa.tumblr.com/post/638156606955241472/darth-vaders-lava-castle-of-bullshit-and-sadness) bc it’s kinda hilarious. Oh and “Stop now, come back, I love you” is one of the last things Padme says to Anakin and “I loved you” is the last thing Obi-Wan tells him :’)
> 
> Oh and uhm I know this is getting long, but I’ve been making cover art for the different chapters so yea u can [look at them on my tumblr](https://furiosophie.tumblr.com/post/641657208031051776/clean-version-of-my-cover-doodle-for-oh-the-things) if you want! Oh shit and I wrote a fluffy Parent/Teacher AU while I was high on painkillers so [that’s here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847531), ok bye now lol
> 
> Next up - remember that scene where Din tests out Grogu’s name and chuckles when he looks at him and it's so sweet and soft and then bam the next episode is called "The Tragedy" and everything fucking sucks? Yea it's that scene


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